Yes, that is right, your eyes do not decieve you - this bright spark had pac man tattooed all over his arse. Actually I think the term 'best tattoos ever' is a bit of a lie as the more I look the worse it gets. Don't the maze bits look like primitive penises? Is it a subtle hint at a love for rimming?
What is the actual point of tatooing your arse? Unless you get it out often to show the lads in an 'me-redblooded-me-no-homo' way it is only ever appreciated by toilet microbes. I mean, if you bring a lady home (I am assuming this is an ostensibly straight male who has done this, if it was a lady or a 'bottom' it would make more sense) she isn't going to see too much of it anyway, UNLESS you use the line 'come home and check out my arse' in which case you may be in for a lonely night.
Still, each to their own, it is origional and it will keep the grandchildren entertained until their mother comes home, kicks your saggy naked sixty year old arse out the door and calls the police.
The first in an occasional series where I showcase random people I found out about and for some reason - possibly to justify the waste of time - wish to share with you the bounty of new knowledge.
YAHOO SERIOUS
I'm not sure how I found out about this fellow, who looks like a cross between Carrot Top (another entrant for P.O.D, possibly to be renamed Ginger of The Day at this rate) and Nev who I used to work with in Ha! Ha!
His Wikipedia entry is HERE but in summary it appears he makes films about Einstein being an Aussie (hence the cockatoo, Ayers Rock and general sense of over confident masculine bravado) I'm guessing he probably goes to France too, maybe on a tug boat...good times had by all? Who can tell. My Lovefilm subscription is running out so sure as hell not me!
I did find out that he changed his name in promotion for this undoubtably fantastic film, only to be unable to change it back as Australia only allows people to change their names once.
I am writing a novel at the moment, so may be a bit less frequent with the hi-larious anecdotes about my bowels, Britney Spears and general rubbish at the moment, but fear not! I will keep writing the blog.
Not exactly sure why I am posting this, seeing as I think this is mainly an exercise in me talking to myself without feeling like a loony rather than a site that is read by, well, anyone really, but still (it is a bit misleading, the number of profile views is not the number of time the blog has been viewed so there is always the possibility I have lots of regular readers who don't need to double check what my favorite film is everytime they come visit...although if they did exist, they could comment, the fuckers)
Annyway, here is a little video I told Robin about today...
Occasionally someone tries to be sexy but ends off acting slightly creepily (you know, the licking the lips, the 'come-hither 'eyes which can also be read as 'I want to gut you with a spoon') , this is sooooo far into the creepy side of sexy that it made me want to staple my bum shut and sellotape my mouth over...just in case Samwell changes his orientation (not that is seems likely)
See now THIS is how you should make music about being a fun-loving young man about town...
I wish those late night ITV adverts were like this video, rather than those lame blonde girls who can't read autocues and also appear to have learnt from the serial-killer school of sexiness. What is it with people today? I would kill to be shot a good 'come-hither' once every so often across a crowded pub... although being that they are smoky crowded areas, sore eyes, spilling of pints and crushing of toes are a regular occurance and everyone is pretty much always squinting to some end or another. Sad.
Actually I think if someone did give me the eye I would probably interpret it as 'he is givin me eeevils' and then spend the rest of the evening sulking into my wine.
It really is a shock to find out I'm single, isn't it?
Oh how I love this cereal! Yes, it is very sugary, but it contains fruit and a hell of a lot of fibre (more than the high fibre cereal, fact fans!) This would be an appropriate juncture to start waffling on about my bowels, and more specifically my preoccupation with them, but frankly I have already alienated most of my friends at one point or the other, or, far worse, they have started to talk about their bowels. This forces me to come to the conclusion that bowels are a bit like dreams in that yours are fascinating, but everyone else's are incredibly boring, unless they directly feature you. (dreams that is, not bowels. Although THAT would be interesting)
Anyway, the point for my ode to chocolate Mornflakes is that they are a bit like Warburton bread, i.e so readily available 'oop north' that they are practically part of the Yorkshire anthem - God save our gracious Toastie Bread, in it's paper pa-ackets. And the Mornflake cereal na na na na na I predict a Riot Morrisions breadcake eeeh oop ta love - but you cannot get them in London!
I almost got to the point of ordering some of the tinternet today, it was only the flatmate who stopped me and rightly pointed out that payin £6.50 postage for a load of chocolate flavoured oats is beyond stupid. So I am instead going on a pilgramage to Holloway Road in the vain hope that their downmarket supermarkets might yield some joy.
I don't understand how it takes most people years and loads of heartache to adopt- or like Madonna they get loads of grief - but Ms Jolie gets to pretty much run around the developing world like it is a giant Woolworth's Pick N Mix of babies.
You would think the fact she has a history of mental unbalance AND three other children would somewhat weigh against her, but I guess she is purty and has nice shiny hair and stuff.
I wonder which bright spark came up with the idea of using innuendo to sell the DAILY MAIL Ideal Home Show. I am now stuck with the horrendous image of Fearne Cotton trimming her giant bush, whilst balanced procariously on a stepladder. Why not go the whole hog and follow it up with 'Got the painters in?' or 'Problem with your downstairs plumbing?' Then all of small minded middle England can imagine Fearne laughing hysterically as she mops up period blood with a paint roller whilst pissing her pants.
Then again, Carole Smilie doesn't appear to warrant a ladybits innuendo. Presumerbly the advertisers were stuck for a way to liken Carole's shrunken pensioner boobs to D.I.Y.
It does however look a little bit like she has just hung herself from the lightfitting and is maniacly swinging around in an attempt to sever her spinal column and quicken death. Which is nice. I blame the MFI bed - those bar bits are really annoying because when you try to read in bed your head gets wedged in the space between two bars and is really uncomfortable. Would drive me to the edge...
Sorry, anything featuring the words 'The Daily Mail' makes my blood boil to such a degree I want to personally go on a tour of middle england where I break into people's houses and lie in wait until two Mail readers are seated side-by-side. I would then leap gloriously from behind the sofa and donk their heads together repeatedly until they agree that not all crime is committed by asylum seekers and darkies, Europe is not a cesspit populated by swarthy little men who smell of garlic and whose sole ambition in life is to drag Our Great Nation to ruin and Richard Littlejohn is a cunt.
Sadly, as it is one of the 'newspapers' with the biggest circulation this might take some time, but perhaps if I make it my life's mission I could be done in time to see the little bronze statue of me that would be erected, with the words 'crusader for the truth' captioning it...or something along those lines, I'll be too old and senile to really understand it by then anyway.
p.s Why is Fearne, who is so desperate to be 'down with the yoof of today' advertising the Daily Mail? After all her stirling work *cough* utter ruining of *cough* TOTP and Live8?
Oh look, NME needed some more guests so they exhumed the corpses of Kate and Pete. Seriously, these two used to be the most revered people in their careers - now they are preetty much a complete joke. Did you hear that Pete fed a joint to a pengiun the other day? Or that he had to go to hospital to have a too-tight ring removed? What. A. Fucking. Tool. As for Kate, the woman is, like, in her mid thirties and has a child. Even Marianne Faithful had started acting her age by then, and she certainly had given up the drug addicted television faced twats!
