Oh mother, what hast thou donest?

A week has gone by since my last blog and I still can't be arsed to write another one. Sorry people, you'll have to do without my bloggy goodness for another few months. I mean, I could write something about how my mother found out about the last blog and asked me to 'wipe it off the internet' (her words, not mine). I'd casually mentioned it to her over our dinner of cutlets and onion gravy, and she'd done some high-tech cyber-snooping to find out the extent of the damage to society I'd caused (she asked my Dad for his opinion on it, and he said it was "a bit strong"). She feared that posting a crappy made up picture of Mohammed and making lots of 'Mohammed is gay' insinuations would somehow lead to Muslims (or as they're known in America, "Moslems") getting annoyed at me.
And in my mother's brain, Muslims angered at a picture they see on some crappy blog in the middle of teh internets = angry Muslims attacking our house and burning it down. Now, you think I'm joking, but no. That was honestly her fear, that we were in some serious personal risk. I considered arguing and reasoning with her, using many many reasoned arguments:

1: I tried to dazzle her with technology. This should be pretty easy; my mother is about as technologically advanced as Edward and Tubbs from League of Gentleman. Actually, perhaps that's unfair. I mean, she's rightly an expert at using the iron, oven, vacuum cleaner, washing machine, and other such womanly apparatus. However, when it comes to man things with shiny buttons and flashing lights (like Computers, The Internet, Tape Players, Mobile Phones or Digital Watches), she fails abysmally. Usually I can confuse her with made up technical vocab until she goes away, eg:

Mother: Come and lay the table.
Me: Sorry, can't, I'm trying to reformat the Hard Drive on my computer but it keeps freezing, I think it's a type 2 kernal error, I'll need to go into disk mode and input /sbin/fsck -y to clear the bug or else the entire RAM is going to have a type 2 BSOD meltdown!
Mother: Oh. *Explodes*
(Ok, I made that up a bit. I have a Mac, so to be honest it never would freeze or break at all. That bit was an exaggeration.)

So I tried to persuade out that there was no way that the terrorists would possibly read it amongst the billions of other web pages out there. She fired back "But isn't your blog listed now?" I couldn't be bothered to even try and figure out what the hell meant by that, so I went immediately onto argument two:

(This is just for any slow females out there who are unable to comprehend reading for more than two minutes without something other than me to lust over... some Braddy goodness)



2: Everybody else on the internet is making up Mohammed pictures now: I used the good old 'tu quoque' argument to throw her off the scent. I told her that EVERYBODY was making Mohammed cartoons now, and that mine was relatively tame compared to what else was out there. I assumed that she'd just take my word for it on, me being the Internet Expert of the house. But no. She wanted proof, for Chrissakes. So I was forced to type "Mohammed Cartoon" into Google images to highlight this issue. She wasn't convinced by this argument, as "These cartoons only make fun of arabs in general and yours is about Mohammed". Apparently, in her mind, there's an important difference. I sighed, then went onto argument three:

3: Trick her with technology: I opened Safari, showed her my site on it for a second, then closed Safari again. "There," I said. "I deleted it. See? It's gone."
I was about 50% sure that this would work. It didn't. Damn her, I thought, she's starting to get techno-literate. Soon she'll be able to use the radio in the car without driving off the side of a cliff. Shit. Better quickly move onto argument 4:

4: Explain it: Do you know, it's totally impossible to explain the concepts of 'irony', 'hyperbole', 'extremist humour' and 'context' to your mother without feeling like an inexorably wanky pseudo-interlectual cunt? She just stares at you and all the references to Chris Morris and the great satirists just die in your throat and you end up muttering "It's like a joke, not serious, you know? Yeah...", or just repeating "Irony... irony... irony... irony" ad nauseum, kind of to yourself. You then start to doubt yourself. Thinking about it, was it really a good idea to make a picture of Mohammed? Is it clever to make fun of people? Shit, I should probably apologise to everybody, and FAST.
Before long, you've ripped yourself in two and you're a gibbering mess of giblets and malformed skin goblets, oozing all over the designer slate floor. The only chance? Flee to argument 5:

5: Just kind of swear a lot: Pretty self explanatory. Stand there looking ruffled and curse heartily. I have yet to find a person against whom this argument works. I think it's because I'm too polite to use it on somebody who would actually be upset by it. It certainly doesn't work with my mother, who, after three years of me and bro cursing solidly like troopers day in, day out, has built up a certified bio-immunity to even the foulest of swears. Except the C word. That's her kryptonite, but I'm too scared of her unholy female wrath to ever break out that bad boy in front of her. Swearing didn't work. So I finally resorted to argument 6:

6: Lie. A bit: Irritatingly, it's impossible to win a fight with my mother without resorting to common liery, which annoys me, because it's against my personal moral code. I'm actually quite an honest person. Well, sort of. I'm moral when I know that I can't get away with it. The upshot of this is that I find it unpossible to tell a sustained to my momma. I can make fun of her and belittle her and patronise her all I want, but for some reason, I can't lie. The best I can do is tell the truth, but not the truth that she's looking for. In this case, I said "Ok, FINE, I'll write another one to cover it and then it won't be up any more."
Well, that's kind of true. I was going to write another post. Not straight away, of course. And it would probably be as equally offensive and anti-foreigners as the last one, possibly with more pictures of Mohammed dressed in thongs and tassles. I just assumed that that would be enough to shut her up. And it was. Kind of. She walked off.

I thought that was all it was to it. I should have shut up then. I should have just relished my tiny victory. But no. I just had to go and find a meat-stick and poke that sleeping dog in the eye, just for fun. I wandered downstairs and, seeing mother drawing things on a piece of paper with a pencil, told her that I'd seen an angry mob of muslims with torches trying to burn down the car. WHY DID I DO THIS? WHY? WHAT POSSESSED ME? She was unamused, and I got another lecture about personal responsibility and how disappointed she was with my total lack of judgement (nb: she still hadn't read the blog in question at this point). The upshot of this is that I'm not allowed to make any more pictures of Mohammed. Yes, people, I have been censored for the first time by my mother. This is a sad sad day.

Well, I guess that I should be used to being censored by now. The school newspaper refused to publish my report on the year's sporting activities thusfar because apparently it was 'too extreme'. I don't see their point, all I did was run through the various sports and activies on offer in a concise way. For example, I praised the rowers for their strength and commitment. Nothing wrong with that. And I think that most of the school would agree with my point that "Table tennis is a true sport for retards". And then I said that the cricketers reminded me of the stormtroopers from Star Wars. And I claimed that rugby was a sport for fat retards who liked to jump on each other in a field. And I said that our football team was all homosexuals.

I bet that that's what it was, actually. You make ONE comment about the homosexuality of the football team and you're immediately marked down as 'an extremist'. Fucking Nazis. What annoys me is that they refuse to publish my well written, amusing article, but happily print little pink Paul's wanky essay on basketball. I quote:

"However, as if a proverbial mirror has been placed next to the Hampton basketball season, our fortunes have been flipped upside down... or back to front as the metaphor implies... currently 4 to 0 (to those unfamiliar with basketball terminology, which from experience, is practically everybone - it's a shame right? - that means we've won four games and lost, yes you guessed it! A big, fat, round, ominous, but strangely gratifying ZERO - excuse me while my ego expands..."

For fuck's sake. And it goes on like that. What the fuck is that? It's more wanky than a bukkake party in the wankiest portion of Japan during wanky season after a forced weeklong period of chastity.
Oh well, at least if I have the satisfaction of knowing that if I write an extreme article, I do a properly extreme article. I don't just do a crappy non-extreme article with a few extreme bits in it. I mean, if you cut out every sentence that contains a somewhat risqué reference to another sport, sexual innuendo, insulting comment about a fellow pupil, or claim that our school is a hotbed of fear, rape and violence, it slices my 700 word piece to less than 230 words of 'proper report.' That's some good offendin', right there.

Anyway, no more pictures of Mohammed. That's what I said, wasn't it? Shocking. But there's a loophole here, aint there? I can make pictures of people and inanimate objects with names kind of similar to Mohammed, just to be a rebel and break my enforced censorship. But that would just be silly and immature, wouldn't it?

So thus begins the "Comedy Mohammed Series" (I wonder if anybody else in the world has ever put those three words together), which will go on until I lose interest in making pictures, the joke gets boring, or I run out of things to rhyme with "Moe". Whichever comes first.

Comedy Mohammed Number 1:


Take that, Hitler!

"Muslims are stupid," -- Alison

Well, the other day I was reading the BBC news website, as I do DAILY, when I noticed a somewhat promising headline: Embassies burn in Cartoon Protest. "Hmm", I thought to myself "This could be interesting. Has Daffy finally snapped and invaded France? Or is the the Smurfs? Have they lost it and have decided to take on Denmark with flame and violence? Or perhaps Woody Woodpecker, sick of all the racial abuse, excrement throwing and gang rapage he's had to endure, has finally released his internal pyromaniac and razed Yugoslavia to the ground?"
Well, I clicked on the story, and as it turned out, it was the Smurfs after all, or as they're more commonly known nowadays, "Crazy Fundamentalist Islamic Extremists".
Apparently they were all offended by some mean cartoons of Mohammed published in a newspaper, and decided that the best course of action was to go and burn down the nearest embassy, which in this case, happened to be the Denmark's, before progressing to the Norweigan one. Who knows where they might go next? Lithuania? Moldova? Belarus? Finland? Oh God, not FINLAND. ANYTHING BUT FINLAND. Hey, and you never know where this could lead. Perhaps in a couple of years of solid burning, these guys might reach the embassy of a country that somebody gives a shit about.

Here's one of the pictures that the little blue fellas are complaining about:



I don't see what the problem is. It's not like it's a particulary insulting picture. They just drew Mohammed with a birthday cake on his head. I mean, I know that it's some kind of taboo to print pictures of Mohammed, but if I remember my Koran correctly, it says that it's bad to print pictures of ANY prophet, not just Moohammerhead. So where's the anger with all the pictures of Jebus floating around? OMG I just went onto a website that showed Jebus smoking a cigar and shooting midgets with an AK47. Right. That's it. I've had enough of this idolatory, I'm off to burn down the Latvian embassy. Don't try and stop me.

Thing is, I enjoy the burning down the embassies of shitty European countries as much as the next red-blooded male, but this sort of behaviour really annoys me. It just seems to be a mass reaction of people unable to take a joke. And that's like my number one peeve in life: people unable to take jokes properly. Like that fat girl at Lucia's party. I accidentally joked that she was fat, not meaning it, then she screamed me out of the house. She was unable to take the comment at whimisical face value, and so therefore she will forever be immortalised as 'that fat girl at Lucia's party'. It's my life's work to spread the message of 'that fat girl'. She doesn't even have a name. Like a sumo wrestler. Or a kraken. Or that whale in the Thames.

Where was I? Oh yeah... IT WAS A FUCKING CARTOON IN A NEWSPAPER YOU DICKHEADS. It wasn't even that decent a picture (he doesn't even have a mouth... some prophet), but you guys HAD to make a fuss and throw your toys out of the pram, and now everybody on the surface of the globe has seen it. And anyway, you fellows monumentally missed the point of said cartoon in the first place.

And thus the lesson begins. What was said point of said cartoon in said newspaper? To make fun of the way that a bunch of stupid cunts have taken the idea of the Religion of Peace and have turned it into a fecken N64 Goldeneye Deathmatch (10 minutes, Archives, Grenade Launchers, four players, rumble pacs). And what is the reaction to this? Do you quietly sulk? Do you write irritated letters beginning "Dear Sir" to the paper in question? Do you HELL. You go burn down random buildings. Well done, lads. No, seriously, way to make your religion not look violent. No, honestly, I'm in awe. Woaaaah, duuuude. Imagine a face of a really impressed beaver, right, then times the impressedness by a million, then pretend that he's looking at something monumentally, colossally intelligent and impressive, then times it by infinite-billion again. THAT'S how impressed I am by this MAG-FUCKING-NIFICENT bit of logical thinking. No, well done. Clap clap. I'm. Speechless. So. I'm. Using. Full. Stops. Between. Words. And. Even. Hal. F. Way. Th. R. Ough. Individua. L. Words.

And how do the authorities react to this whinging? They fire everybody who put the picture in the paper and make like fifteen apologies to the whingers. Pah. If I was in charge of the world, that cartoon would be printed up on posters and stuck all over the place, with the words "THIS IS WHY YOU CAN'T HAVE NICE THINGS, YOU FUCKTARDS" written on them. In arabic, which is like a backwards version of real writing. This posters would be everywhere, I'd tattoo it into the side of elephants, have planes pulling banners of it across the sky, I'd tell all the barbers to shave it into the beards of the men and have haberdashers stitch it into the dishcloths that all the ladies wear on their heads. Fucking teach them to not have a sense of humour about these things. Then maybe next time they'll think twice before messin' wit my freedom of speech.
Man, I can't wait til I own my own newspaper. We won't take shit from nobody. That's what it'll be called: The Sunday-We-Don't-Take-Shit-From-Nobody-Express-Mail.

Because that's what it all boils down to, these twats think can mess with my right to say or write or draw whatever the fuck pops into my head and then have people look at it. If they had their way, we wouldn't have some of the great literature and the great music of the world. Just imagine it; a planet without the final novel of Stephen King's Dark Tower series when we find out that all seven books were totally pointless, or without the soothing chords of Linkin Park's Magnum Opus "Meteora", or without the soul-searing cinematic poetry of the Wayan brothers. But you think that's bad? Just try to imagine a world without Liberty X or Big Momma's House 2. Just try it. A hell, that's what it would be. A total living hell. I'd rather die. And that's what the terrorists want. They want to take away everything that makes life worth living. THEY WANT TO TAKE AWAY OUR KANYE WEST, OUR JIM CARREY, OUR WESTLIFE! Bastards.
Well I won't stand for it. I DEMAND ARTISTIC FREEDOM. Just to spite the entire Islamic religion, I'm not going to stop making millions of wire men then leaving them around school. Never! It is now a political movement. I shall do whatever I want and claim it's art! And I'm certainly not gonna let them take away my ability to pose my Batman action figures in suggestive homosexual poses and them take photos to share with the world.



Ha HA. And you know what Blue Batman is thinking? "Wow, Ninja Bruce Wayne is so hot. It's a pity that Mohammed isn't here to share in our gay threesome. Because Mohammed is homosexual. He's a big poof with a silly beard. And you know why they won't let us take photos of him? Because he wears eyeliner. And makeup. And concealing blusher. That's right. He's a big makeup wearing poof. And a cross-dresser. But what a tight ass."

That was BATMAN talking, so if you're offended, take up your quarrel with him. Keep me outta it.

Obligitory "why can't we all get along?" bit
Of course, I know that most Islamics aren't crazy fundamentalists. Many of them are just normal people, like you or me. Well, not like me. I'm the fucking Two-Man in the winning Hampton Head Boat. We beat the nearest competition by almost 8 seconds. I'm like a rowing God amongst men. It should be idolatrous to make a picture of ME, never mind Mooooohammey... Plus, my nose is normal sized, and I wouldn't look good with a beard and a silly hat. But that changes nothing - those foreigners are probably just normal people just like you lot. They didn't want to go burn down the Lithuanian embassy. They didn't even want to make a tiny scale model of the Lithuanian embassy and throw hot pieces of blu-tak at it. They probably see the essential dickheadnessitude of burning down buildings to protect the non-violent reputation of your religion. No, this post is aimed at the crazed fundamentalist morons. I know that there are a couple who read this blog between bombing raids (What up, Abd Al-Baqi Al-Karim! Keep commenting! You too, Anon!)

And finally, I'd just like to point out the victim in all of this. Not the Danish - who gives a shit about them? - But Mohammed himself, who's been forced to watch it all from his underground love shack, with Jesus and that blue Hindu guy with the arms. Because who knows what he has to say about this entire sorry affair? He doesn't have a mouthpiece in the world. They don't even show his picture. They get all angry and offended and jihaddy if you even make a picture of him. So I made a picture of him:



Well, I don't think that any of us expected him to say that.

OMG I JUST MADE A PICTURE OF MOHAMMED! I'M GOING TO HELLS!!!!1!!1 CLAM!!1!. Well, to all you islamic fundamentalist jackoffs out there, if you feel like blowing something else up, do your worst. You know where to find me. I'll be waiting with my C4 and my big pile of pork, and I will be sorely disappointed if this blog isn't a smouldering heap of debris by Wednesday. SORELY DISAPPOINTED. Yes, I herebye declare a jihad on myself. Confused? You should be.

How the hell do you spell idolatrous?

You know, I never thought that I'd want them to take boobs OFF the television, but...

There is this tv show on right now about these eight year olds who ARE STILL BREAST FED BY THEIR MOTHERS.
They, like, go up to their mums and pull out the tits then just take a big swig. Then they lie there like huge fat slugs on their mothers' laps, sucking away at those nipples. I mean, on the principle of the thing, I'm not against women getting out their boobs in public and hanging small children off of them. I can see that it could be fun. And if there were fit 15 year old girls doing the breast-sucking, well, I guess that that concept has potential. But it's not like it's even sexy. The mothers have these huge distorted, distended fat veiny udders topped by huge twisted nipples the size of plums and the colour of week old blood blisters. And the children are always FAT. Fat and ugly.

Eugh.

EUGH.

Every time I glance at the TV screen, I see these women and their babies. FOR GOD'S SAKE, WOMAN, STOP IT. PUT THE FUCKING THINGS AWAY. YOU ARE NOT 21 ANY MORE, YOUR BOOBS ARE NOT GORGEOUS LITTLE APPLES OF FIRM TENDER WOMANFLESH, THEY ARE GIANT SAINSBURY'S BAGS FULL OF CLOUDY JELLY AND THREE-DAY-OLD SHEEP'S INTESTINES, AND YOUR MILK IS A POISONED AND FETID BILE THAT CONGEALS IN THE STOMACHS OF YOUR FAT LITTLE PIG DARLINGS AND GIVES THEM EXPLOSIVE BOWL-FLUID AND ROTS AWAY THE WALLS OF THEIR SPHINCTERS.

Look, this little cunt child came on. It's crying. "Mum... I want milk!" it says, in its horrible RP accent. It's crying. Shut up, kid. Oh, wait, we've gone to an upper class mother getting out her upper class tit to give her upper class baby a drink of upper-class booby-milk. That's another thing, how come all these women and children are all so bloody rich? They all talk in upper class accents, received pronounciation, and say things like 'darlings' and 'mummy'. They all have names like Prunella and Jasmine and Esquire and things and they all live in massive houses.

This just begs the question: why do poor people not breast feed their children to the age of 8? I'll tell you why: Poor people are not fucking stupid. They don't have the money to waste on some stupid fat brat-child who demands to be breastfed up til puberty. They need the baby to go out and mine coal down the shaft at the age of three. And how many miners still need to be breastfed every twenty minutes or they start crying and shit themselves? A very small percentage, that's what. You can't mine if you're being breastfed: that's what the lower classes have realised and that's why poor babies don't get breastfed long. In fact, in many cases they don't get breastfed at all: the mothers have already sold their breastmilk to United Milk Co for Crack money, and the babies are fed with dust and wasps and the juice you get from crushed earthworms. And the babies have to catch those earthworms themselves or, you know, they just don't eat.
Whereas the stupid fucking rich cunts on this program can just spend time and money bringing up another generation of pussy mummy's boy baby twats who will never survive by themselves in the outside world, so don't go to school, don't have sex, never get a job and won't leave home til the age of 34, and then only to move next door because the mother wants to convert their bedrooms into an S&M dungeon.

Christ on a bike.

And I wish that these fucking women would stop whining on that it's a huge social injustice, and people are more uncomfortable with the female body 'doing a natural thing... feeding our children, raising the next generation', than they are with a fit naked 20 year old jiggling about on page 3.
To this, I have only three responses:

1: Of course I'm more comfortable with the fit naked 20 year old than you, you dried out old milk-harpy. What are you, fucking stupid? You look like the Elephant Man's twin sister, after having her face beaten in with a tyre-iron then plastered over with inch thick makeup. Makeup made of glass and concrete and spiders.
2: Feeding eight year olds at your breast is not natural. By doing so, you are not aiding the survival of the species. The moment your spawn gains the ability to drink cow's milk and eat banana mush, they no longer need your distended hell-teat. Your eight year old can drink cow's milk and can definitely eat banana mush. Hell, perhaps he's advanced to melon mush (better not rush it though, darling Geoffrey-Callum is such a gifted child but, you know, don't wanna push him over the edge... pretty soon he'll be wanting to leave the house without your express permisson). Now STOP IT.
3: The only reason that you're still breastfeeding is because you have a pathetic and obsessive compulsion to stay forever young and to forever be the new-mother to your children. It's a fucking selfish thing to do, and no matter how much you blather on about how your baby 'loves the breast' and how much of a joint activity it is, its just you being an egotistical bitch who refuses to die, and guess what? Your children probably already hate you and they're going to leave home as soon as possible, become very rich selling their story to Jerry Springer, and probably send hitmen to cut off your breasts then beat you over the head with them. And even if that doesn't kill you, guess what? In twenty year's time, you'll probably die of cancer. Or of liver-spots. Or of rheumatism or of a heart attack or whatever the hell it is that old people tend to die of, and at your funeral your children will spit and throw rocks at your coffin because you were a shit parent and you fucked them up in the head by mollycoddling them and by treating them like they were babies and good GOD I hope you all burn in an eternal hell you fucking udder-cows.

Oh, joy. This one udder woman, having realised that little Wayne wasn't going to breastfeed forever, decided to adopt a little Chinese kid to love and ply with milk until he leaves home. I just saw her trying to feed little Ping-Pong of whatever the hell his name was. AND HE REJECTED HER OUTRIGHT. He even started crying then crawled away, possibly to hang himself. Ha HAH, lady, your boobs were rejected by an Asian. Can there be any lower degradation?

In conclusion, I've decided that we need more nice breasts on TV to make up for the ugly ones. In fact, lets just cut out the ugly ones all together.

Well, at least I learnt two things from that show.
1: The average age for weaning in the UK is four years.
2: Sometimes, forced euphanasia is justified. Very justified. Vital, even.