More Shit To Read

You can tell a lot about someone by the company they keep, and in much the same way the links on someone's blog will tell you plenty about the type of person they are. For instance, if you happen to be a fat woman agonizing about weight loss, the chances are that many of your links will be to other fat women trying to lose weight, or to women with various problems that require endless public agonizing and mutual "support". In other words, if you didn't enjoy someone's writing there would be little point clicking on the links because you're going to get more of the same crap. Likewise, if you find something interesting you stand a reasonable chance that they will have linked to something else of interest.

Ergo, since I am an opinionated, vulgar, sarcastic and blunt person with delusions of humor, you might expect that I would have links to lots of similar people. Unfortunately I haven't found many yet, and I refuse to include links to crap just for the sake of it, or to porn (because if you don't already know how to find that then you're clearly beyond my help).

Anyway, if you've read this far down I suggest you check out Jaggy. He's well worth reading, in spite of the fact that five hundred years ago we'd have been shooting arrows at each other over Hadrian's wall. Or something. Plus he's "cynical, sarcastic and opinionated", and definitely Beyond The Herd. Enjoy.

Santa Screwed Me Again

In spite of me having provided a comprehensive Christmas present list, Santa only managed to get me the cream soda. Illicit romps with assorted young women in a hot tub are still pending.


Still, I do like cream soda...

Lost Cause

As I walked out of the store with my four-pack of Red Bull on Monday, and headed across the car park, a red minivan came down the aisle and took the corner faster than was necessary. As it passed me I was assailed by the "Thump Thump Thump" of its stereo pumping out some inane hip-hop shit. The teenage boy behind the wheel was clearly doing his very best to convey how cool he was. "Look at me - I can accelerate down the car park at the suburban strip mall and corner slightly too quickly. And listen to my cool sounds! Don't I seem black, even though I'm a pasty white wanker who would be about as much at home in the ghetto with my ho, as on the moon with the jolly green giant?"

If you play your music so loud that everyone around can hear it, with the bass full up, you're making a statement. If you happen to be doing it in your mum's borrowed minivan then the statement is "I am a complete twat", end of story. Mind you, that's equally true of all the other teenage suburban hip-hop jerks with their "not quite dropped yet" balls and the customized Honda Civic that daddy bought. Go play that shit down Goodfellow and let me know how you get on.

Return Of The Turkey Neck Penis

Since turkey is not just for Thanksgiving, here's the Christmas version:


The whole process was clearly much more exciting this time:


Merry Christmas!

Essential For A Healthy Christmas...

Where's all the bloody lard gone? I was picking up the last items for Christmas dinner this morning, one of them being some lard in which to roast potatoes. You can roast potatoes in oil, if you're a cross-dressing nancy-boy, but real potatoes are roasted in lard, after parboiling, which gives them that wonderful crunchy coating. It's just the way things should be done. So I searched all over Schnucks, the local supermarket, and could not find any trace of lard. Eventually I asked the people behind the meat counter. "Oh no, we don't sell that anymore. We haven't for ages." Not to be deterred I checked out the other supermarket in our local duopoly, Dierbergs, on the way to the gym. Guess what? No lard there either.

When did the fucking health nazis decree that no-one could use lard anymore? And why is it that, in spite of aisles full of sugar-laden junk and artery-sclerosing dairy products, you can't buy this basic food staple. Do the fat bastards of St.Louis (and believe me there were many in evidence today) think that by avoiding a bit of lard they can forestall their inevitable myocardial infarction?

Or maybe it's worse even than that. No-one roasts potatoes at all. They mash them instead, or buy them pre-processed because the real thing is so complicated. Well let me tell you, if it's no longer possible to buy lard in a supermarket then the terrorists really have won...


Copyright 2007 Edward Bison

Season's Greetings

We wish you a Merry Christmas
We wish you a Merry Christmas
We wish you a Merry Christmas
And a fucking good new year...



From Mr.Bison

Have A Mental Christmas

The following bad taste Christmas carols for mental people caused some minor uproar in the UK when they were published by a mental health charity. Recognise anyone you know?

As I Predicted...

They say truth is stranger than fiction. Of course they may be talking bollocks, whoever they are, but I did receive a Christmas letter today that was uncannily close to the FICTIONAL CHRISTMAS LETTER that I posted a while back. I mean the upbeat one, not the depressing one. For a start, the husband had a wonderful new job, and he even had a boat. The kids were doing fabulously at school and the mum was combining volunteer work and school responsibilities.

This letter had only six paragraphs but contained more than twenty exclamation marks, thus following the guidance established in my "fill in the blanks" Christmas letter!!! We know these people, obviously, (it would be a bit sad to be sending Christmas letters to complete strangers) but not so well that I could drive over and give them the slap that they so richly deserve, at least not without causing offence.

So remember, as you sit down to write your own holiday missive to friends and family, not to stray too far into the land of twattiness.

New Amendment

I'm already sick of hearing from all the cookie-cutter presidential candidates with their "I'm an outsider who can change Washington" bullshit. The only question to ask is which one would be the least fucked-up. Still, if they asked for my opinion (which they won't, because as a non-citizen I'm not entitled to vote nor, more importantly to write them a check) I would suggest that they could secure my support by promising to pass the followimg constitutional amendment:

In any gym it shall be the inalienable right of any man who witnesses another man perform a "pussy squat" to bitch-slap him; further, it shall be the obligation of any other man there present to join in until the perpetrator flees in shame. The gym shall forthwith be required to cancel his membership and post his picture on the "Wall of Shame" under the heading "Fucking Pussy".

I'm just fed up with people coming in and making like they're about to squat with the bar on their back, and then bending their knees about six inches. Just go home and stay out of the way, OK? And yes, I am in a pissy mood today, now you come to mention it. Must be the season of goodwill...

That's Gotta Hurt

It's been a while since our 6-a-side indoor soccer team had a good injury so I suppose we were due for one. The last memorable occasion was a clean break of a tibia and fibula which caused the recipient to turn a beatiful green color. The sound of the break was something that you had to be there to appreciate. Yes we've had some knee blowouts since then requiring surgery, but nothing spectacular. However, tonight our keeper got kicked in the hand going down for a loose ball. He didn't move for a bit, but when he finally removed his glove he had a finger that bent in the middle, but not the way you'd expect (or want).

What do you say to a fallen comrade in this situation? It's no good coming out with crap like "There, there, we'll make it better" or "It doesn't look too bad to me", but you've got to fill the silence somehow. So I asked him "Is it your wanking hand?" He replied "Fuck. Yes it is." I was going to suggest that he use his other hand, because it would feel like someone else, but then I noticed that the break was on his left hand. So either he's left-handed or he already knows the "someone else" trick. That I didn't ask. Still, it's possible that it was just a dislocation at the middle joint and not a break at all. We could have given it a good pull to find out but I don't think he was keen. We'll soon find out though; either our goalie will be wanking his way back to full fitness in no time or Mrs.Palm will be one daughter short of a full complement for a while.


Copyright 2007 Edward Bison

Kill Me Now...

I got seriously lucky on the flight back from Minneapolis last night. First no-one tried to bugger me in the airport bathroom (hunting ground of Larry Craig and various other people with similar hobbies). Then I got two exit row seats to myself on the cigar-shaped coffin Embraer jet. Finally I looked in the seat pocket and found a fresh copy of Time magazine, which was infinitely more use in passing the time than the inflight magazine or the mouthfull of soda I received. While flicking through Time I happened to find an article about fat loss pills in which it was pointed out that women who take the Alli over-the-counter fat blocking pill are recommended to wear a panty liner because of the likelihood of uncontrollable oily anal leakage.

Apparently the problem is widespread and well-known but people choose to use the product anyway. I have to wonder how much use a diet pill is when it makes it practically impossible to do any exercise. I can just imagine Alli users trying to run: jog jog puff pant squirt jog jog squelch jog puff pant jog squirt etc. I would think that even Scrabble would be a little risky if you reached for the triple word score a bit quickly. And what about the men? Just in case anal leakage and the probability that you will shit yourself in public are not quite enough of an ego hit, you now need to wear a panty liner? Maybe this is the secret behind the pill - people stop eating so their arse leaks less. Whatever the reality I have to wonder whether death wouldn't be preferable...


Copyright 2007 Edward Bison

It Won An Award...

Last night I rented a movie. I avoid like the plague anything mainstream involving actors like Nicholas Cage with supposedly thrilling plots, or formulaic so-called comedies. Instead I'm looking for something a bit out of the ordinary. Like Sexy Beast, which I discovered at Blockbuster years ago. This time around I was confronted by the usual array of Hollywood mediocrity, but then I came across a film called "Perth". It was billed as the Singaporean "Taxi Driver" and "the most violent film in Singapore"; this was enough to get my attention. The plot line looked interesting and I didn't recognize a single actor so I rented it.

Well, I have to say it was disappointing. Mrs. Bison described it as "shit", which was probably true, although I did like the Singapore atmosphere. It just never got going. As I was putting the disc back in the box I noticed the "Award Winning" emblem on the back proclaiming that this film had won some Asian film award. Had I noticed that I would never have rented it. It has been my sad experience that anything selected to win any independent film awards is invariably bizarre, slow-moving and, well, shit. I know there must be exceptions but I've never seen one. Next time I'll look at the box more closely...


Copyright 2007 Edward Bison

Crap No-one Needs, #9

Stephen King

How did Stephen King get a reputation as a great horror writer? He's certainly prolific, and a lot of his stuff has been made into movies, but I have to say that it's mostly utter shit. I rented "1408" last week, the film based on his short story about a haunted hotel room. It started out promisingly enough; the idea of a haunted hotel room is a great concept to me since I spend half my life in hotel rooms, some of them occasionally creepy. But as is usual with anything that this twat writes, he completely loses the plot. The whole point of good horror is that you can suspend disbelief and imagine that this could be happening to you. You see yourself walking down that corridor with the flickering light in the abandoned asylum, fearing that the spectre of the sadistic old doctor could at any moment appear in front of you. When in "1408" the whole hotel room suddenly fills up with sea water and breaks up you just give up - it's bollocks.

I heard someone on the radio state that King doesn't know how to do endings, and they were right. He gets an idea, works it for a bit and then the plot escalates to some fucking bullshit ending that makes no sense at all. Consequently I'm not watching anything that this overrated prick has written ever again. He can stick his Mist up his arse.