Archive for July, 2006

Ancient Bog Found In Scroll

Saturday, July 29th, 2006

Good idea. Bad idea.

stigmund decided to create a dream come true

Words Cheap and Dry, Endless Whining

Saturday, July 22nd, 2006

This was making me feel very sad. Until I found this. The Kooky Kwotes!

Before I go on, what must we do to get Goat-Fiend to write more? Is that or is that not the best blog intro you’ve ever read? And how about that for a first entry! Man, someone get this guy a generous helping of laptop with just a smattering of broadband so we can see what more he has to say for himself. Failing that he should probably die tragically so we could all become Jeff Buckley-esque fans, torturing ourselves over what could have been and spending all our money on double CDs of Goat-Fiend coughing in a studio.


So the Cup of the World is finally over. I do confess to a gaping void in my life where Google World Cup updates should be. Anyone any ideas? By the by, I can understand to some extent (with considerable resentment) the fact that most of you DO NOT LIKE FOOTBALL. However, if this doesn’t move something inside you, check for a pulse. It was the last minute of extra time, for crying out loud. It needs sound if you want the hairs on your arms to stand up just right. That goes for you too, Defective Yeti. While your brilliant writing has brought new-found meaning to so many lives (most significantly, mine), maybe give football a break. Call it racism (please. No really, I insist), but those Yankee scumbags are responsible for some very poor writing on the World Cup. Unable as I am to find the non-Defective Yeti articles I’m talking about (oh the ineptitude!) you’re just going to have to take my word for it. Saves us all time, really; it’s not like you doubted me. Let’s just put it down to the fact that I’m writing this two weeks after all the action finished and those articles are well past their sell-by date, hence, freakin’ hard to find. But anyway, back to the Defective one: these two entries will forever remain unhealing scabs on the beautiful elbow that is Matthew Baldwin’s website. Clichéd, jaded and tired points that did not need a new airing.

While we’re on the subject of football (might as well get it all out of my sytem now) what the freaking heck (pardon me) is up with FIFA rankings. I know they’re notoriously inaccurate and unreliable but why is that? Which toilet did they pull their point system from? For example, Germany are in at 10th while England are 5th… Very odd. Inexplicable, actually. And, without even kicking a ball, Ireland dropped from being level with Colombia at 34 a month ago, to 39; while Colombia jump 13 places to 21! Makes sense when you don’t think about it.

This is the point where I’d usually bitch/berate some film I’d seen recently. I went to the cinema yesterday and had a look to see what was on- taking my bus home proved the more attractive option.

yesterday stigmund woke up sucking a lemon

Messages of a Textually Explicit Nature VII

Monday, July 17th, 2006


Welcome home. If that is your real name. You tanned bastard.

Today in work I farted so hard and loud I hurt myself a little. And I think someone heard. What would Jesus do?

I always wondered why I was always alone in France. I’ve cried about this for 3 years. I still want to be your mate!

Football cancelled. No-one really wants to come. Shame. Will blame you for it though.

‘The S the H the I the T the T the Y, the R ‘n’ B is shittay. You know it’s shittay.’ I just found this message on my old SIM.

Certainly. Remind me again though because my head, as you know, is like a sieve…

Dance. Boogie wonderland.

Swift comeback: “yeah? Shove it! Make with the email and then cram it!” *pants fall down, trips*

Anything strange? Fish can’t fart. Get off my billboard you dirt. Go eat your fish farts on someone else’s bus route.

Hey, I just woke up. Wanna go to the beach? : )

I miss you like that wart I had on my little finger for a full two years of my life, until I burned it off.

Assisting women to give birth: is there anything more arousing?

stigmund – he’d shut his mouth if he knew what was good for him. Pumpkin-pie-haircutted freak.