the password for 2009 is…

“I say! Was that Richard Burton you just spilt your drink over?” 

if you made it this far, i’m inclined to consider your offer.

Fixquack Hates Cunts

I hate the world and all the muelling little cunts that sail in it.

Why, only last night in a musichall on old sydney street,  i was enjoying the entertaining and sharp reparte of a cabaret star who liberally spinkled the word Cunt about among her adoring fans so that we would become educated as to its true meaning & poetic status. she had us all singing along, “Cunt! Cunt! Cunt!”, fantastic stuff! it just never comes out that stylishly when i start using naughty words on-stage, i simply let off steam and only some of my audience has stayed behind. still, best to sort the wheat from the chav early-on, i say.

anyway. as i made to go to the bar with but half a glass of light ale left in my hand, i had the misfortune to stumble over a pair of size ten boots that had been carelessly left in the thoroughfare by some snivvelling sub-goth wannabe. as i straightened out to gracefully receive its apology for its lack of spacial awareness, my grinning mug was met by an achingly cool sneer of disdane from, as it turned out, a sub-post-neo-goth-a-like teenage girl. well, fuck her and the heroin induced infants she will spit out. “Cunt!” i shouted, and began to laugh uncontrollably as i poured what remained of my light ale (it was piss anyway) down her cheap, black, frilly fronted frock.

i was peomptly bungled out of the establishment and thrown onto the street, shit-arsed drunk.

…no sense of humour, these cunts have…