Revolutionary biscuits of Italy...

Nay...

Revolutionary Guardsmen of Nabisco

Rise up out of your box

You have nothing to lose but your waaaaaaaayfers

Nom Nom Nom Nom Nom!

Never trust woman (with shit on her dress)...

Apparently, there's a lot of confusion over the Ariel Liquitab advert. What the feck is going on? It makes no sense? It's stupid! Which one's the mom? Christ I hate that fucking advert! Oooh, that one on the left is quite cute, actually...

Well, that's because most people are Gormsters, and nowhere near as clever as The Xym. So, here is Xym to walk you through what's actually going on here.

OK. We open on a shot of a couple of student girls in the communal Launderette. One is sat on a chair, totally disinterested in her dumb blonde friend. You can tell she's thinking "Oh fuck, here she fucking goes again, the thick cow"

"So, it's usually when I want to wear my favourite vintage dress that I realise maybe I should do my washing a bit more often" 

Uh-oh! Blondie's friend has suddenly taken an interest! She's looking a bit guilty there... what's that Blondie just picked up? Oh dear - looks like someone's just been caught out borrowing her airheaded friend's best frock to go to a party.

 "'cause it's covered in all these weird, mystery stains." 

Shit! Found out! And she would have gotten away with it too, if it wasn't for her pesky bezzie noticing that it was all covered in spunk weird, mystery stains.

"I'm like, what is that? Coffee Right?"

"Probably."

Guilty! Far to quick to claim "Probably". Look at that knowingly smug expression on her face after saying probably. She knows damn well that's not coffee... and she can't believe her dumb blonde friend doesn't realise she wore the dress to a student orgy and hid the Boston Pancaked raiment in the washing, hoping she'd just shove the Monica Lewinski'd dress into the washer, and not rummage through the linen noticing spunk and fanny batter splattered all over. Coffee my arse - that's a shitstain from when the knickerless nympho crapped into a cup. probably.

"So anyway, Mum sent down this Ariel stain remover stuff..."

And just look at her friend sigh in the background! Christ does she find her mate boring. This is a case of please just shut the fuck up about your dress you boring, vain, fucking bitch as she ignores the endless whittering about washing.

"...to put in the wash with Ariel, and it's like, twice as powerful apparently!"

Oh no, Blondie's turning to her friend! Her friend notices and snaps her head back with an "I'm really interested, honest" expression on her face, as if she were paying attention all along! In reality though, we all saw her being bored shitless. She really doesn't like this self-absored woman one little bit, and Blondie is totally oblivious to it!

"Brilliant!" 

Oh, how sincere is that! The eye rolling, the head roll. Yes, someone certainly thinks this is really brilliant. Continue with your enthusiastic diatribe on washing tabs. Please, go on, do!

"And now the stains have gone, and I've got my vintage dress back!"

And she turns to her friend, who is open-mouthed in shock at almost being caught out mocking the empty headed fashionista again. Luckily, she quickly alters her demeanor to look like she's all excited too... 

..and sticks two thumbs up, once more in a totally sarcastic manner. And Blondie still doesn't get the hint. And so, the advert is over...

.

Blondie mugs to camera, happy with her liquitabs... whilst her so-called "friend" is clearly thinking "Thank fuck that's over, perhaps the bitch'll shup up now!" and dreaming of which outfit to pilfer next from her posh mates expensive wardrobe for her next nymphomaniac ball.

So, the moral of this tale is.. .um... if you buy Ariel Liquitabs, you'll be blissfully unaware that your best mate is using you to gain access to your wardrobe,  seduce and bed your boyfriends, and constantly mocking you behind your back and feigning friendship when you look at them.

There's a little yellow one-tooth idle manager down South of Kat that men do...

Guess who's back? Back again. Slag is back! Tell Bruce's friend!

Bruce Willis's "special" friend it would appear.

Yes, it's the return of the perpetually horny office slaaaaag who abandoned her job and kids, left her manager in the lurch, and went off for some unlimited sexcapades with Bruce Willis.

But for some reason, she wasn't sacked for deserting her desk for celebrity sex.

And there's me without a job come Hallowe'en. I gets redundancy despite being damn good at what I do, and she can go off sexing Jon McClane in front of her manager and still keep her job. Clearly, being unlimited in sexual deviance keeps your boss "on-side" as it were.

Anyhoo, once again another irate customer has come in to complain. And once more, he has managed to traipse all the way from home, on the bus, through the City and Security, and arrived to give the manager a dressing down in his dressing gown.

Wait a minute...

...that's not his dressing down! That's Bruce Willis's dressing gown! Why is he wearing Bruce's bathrobe...
...ah! That strumpet's taught him about being all "unlimited" and now he's gone all gay pride experimenta with a live-in lover!

And now Bruce has sent his bisexual Gillette Soccer Saturday showerboy off to get some lovin' off that office whore he had before.

So now Jeff is trying to cop off with the crumpet by coming up with some faux excuse about broadband.

And once again, Yellowtooth tries to offer a lesser service - but what's this? The horny harlot is sticking her whore in again, and again promoting the rival Sky Broadband...

...but Yellowtooth is being managerial this time! He cuts her off with a big "Shhhhhh"! Yay! Stand up for brand loyalty - or shut her up before she starts selling sexual services to celebrities again.

But I don't think she's that impressed with The Snelling,as she doesn't mention how truly unlimited she is. Clearly footballing pundits do not lubricate her labial lips as much as The Willis.

But then, the pervy pundit of Saturday Morning Kickyball shows make the indecent proposal to the secretarial slapper. Come with to Hartlepool... and if you're as unlimited as Bruce Willis reckons, it's more Hartley Hare, if you know what I mean. All Rampant Rabbits and going at it like bunnies. Or you can just get all bestial, you wanton, unlimited gashfeeder! Hartlepool? Heartily pooling her knickers with a downpour of quimpaste! or something.

Well, she looks distinctly unimpressed. Disgusted even. But that's not going to stop her getting her snatchbox filled! She's such a nyphomaniac she just gets up and goes off with him anyways! It's like, "well, he's not that great looking, and I've already had Bruce Willis, but a shag's a shag, so I might as well give him a knee-trembler down Hartlepool docks in a back alley. But not up me back alley - that's a Brucie Bonus only Willis can fill.".

She looks so unexcited following him out - it's like she's a slave to sex. It's like she so doesn't wanna do it with him, but she has a compulsion to do it regardless.

But, alas, it looks like she's actually going to get the sack. For in the background as she goes off for a bonking, her manager throws up his arms in exasperation. "What, you're skiving off for a fucking again? What's wrong with me... apart from the manky tooth?".

I suppose the next ad will have to surpass this one with Johnny Depp peeling her off her chair to take her for a chuff stuffing. Bent Over The Photocopier By Beckham. And because we're multi-cultural (and can't have all white seducers, as that's racist), there'll be a token black version where Idris "Peach" Elba walks in, throws her over the table, and has his way with her right there with his big black monster cock and fisting her right up to his Idris Elbow.

And once she's had unlimited black, she'll never go back.

or something...

There's only one way to find out...

Before I cracks in with me bloggocks, a big Thank You and Apology for last night!

Yeah, yesterday's blog was a bit of a depressive miseryarse. But good times brighteneded me up.

Drinks with Loki, Spike, Spooky Joolz, Scotchbloke with an angry penis, the mardy otters, Mah Polish Pretty, Frank (Bruno) and Lucy Longlegs. So big thanks to them for cheering me's up.

Then through the rain with Luce for the King Of The Goths birthday at the poncy theatre place. Yay, mah Sis, mah mod Pretty, diverse other Pretties and acquaintances too numerous to mention. So thanks to them too!

Then on to The WhatACunt for Wraith. Much lacking in partying Pretties, except for the Jadey Lady, so a big thank you to her too for giving me a hug, dancing with the bloated whale that be Xym, and putting yet another great big smile on his great fat foolish face.

But then... oh then....

People started being ill, and leaving¹, and Engaging In Converse With Strangers, leaving Xym all paranoid, depressed and alone... and as mentioned yesterday, one did indeed pull one's legendary Xym Sneaks Off In A Huff Before He Says Something Stupid act.

And for that, one does apologize most humbly.

So my name's mud now, and I've probably upset everyone, and everyone remaining probably had an horrible last 3/4hr without me there to keep them all accompanied and entertained.

So I've been all morose again today, feeling bad I abandonded peoples. But at least there was telly to cheer me up. Colombo repeat, F1, Mythbusters, Once Upon A Time, and now...

...what the blinking flip?!?!?

Halfway through Finding Bigfeets on the tellybox, and they had an ad break so Ranae could have a poo in the forest without the camera's filming her flange or televise her being boffed by Bobo, yet another of them strange advertisementy things came on.

More sick, depraved filth to entertain the blood lust of the masses!

Puppies vs Babies!!

Surely this can't be right. Batman vs Dredd. Megashark vs Mega-Octopus. Man vs Food. No problem - such battles are entertainment. Big ole fights to the death.

Put pitching newborns against savage beasties?

I though we were way past the age of Bare Biting, Cock Fighting and dog fights.

And now, on Prime Time telly, nature red in tooth and claw, and Pampers nappy rash raw!

Animal planet - animaul planet, more like!

¹ ON THE PLUS SIDE, TAKING THEIR LIMPET CLING ON WITH 'EM!

That's what my Heart yearns for now...

Norwich Pride!

Now, today, I am in one of the foulest of foul moods, calmed only by relaxation with the mardy otters in Starbucks whilst ogling the hottest of my Starbucks harem.

Mainly due to the usual Saturday shite, combined with being pissed at not being considered for another job due to "not having the relevant skills or experience" virtually identical to a sub-set of the job I used to do (indeed was Lead Consultant for Aviva for) not so long ago.

Even the Gay Bacon, Lettuce & Tomato celebratory thing was right royally pissing me orf!

It's was all I could do to scream at them "I don't give a fuck about your sexual/religious/lifestyle preference! I accept you for who you are.There's no need for a pride march. Fat old men shouldn't feel the need to walk past my Window Of Passing Pretties trowelled with buckets of polyfilla and poster paint, in ill-fitting pirate leggings and stripey t-shirt baring their midriff beer gut just because it's the one day they can be proud to be gay. Just be yourself all the time."

But I didn't.

But the slightest thing is setting me off at the moment. I'm a seething pot of self contained paranoid anger, and I just can't help it. I don't know what's going to set me off next.

I reckon it's the stress & panic of being out on me ear with no hope of employment, and my usual façade of jollity is getting harder to maintain. Cracks are forming in my happy-go-lucky smiley mask.

And I'm off to the pube and the WhatACunt later. Oh, how wound up am I gonna end up? I may end up doing my now legendary Xym Sneaks Off In A Huff Before He Says Something Stupid act.

"Wotcha mean before you say something stupid...?" ← thus spake the voices of experience from those normally in contact with The Xym and know of his lack of keeping his great fat trap shut

Attack of the kill... nay, prozzie tomatos...

♪ Attack of the prossie tomatos!

Attack of the prossie tomatos!

They'll beat you, whip you, suck you, fuck you,

tie you to the bed!

And finish you off by giving you head! ♫

Well, you learn something new every day.

Tomato excuse for prostitute in car in Walsall.

Oh, all the fruit/vegetable puns. The obscure reference to strange films. Green Grocers and Hulk. Hard-Fi. Vegitarian vagitarians and religious salads of temptation.

You know what - I don't even need to blog about this! I can just raise and eyebrow, cough slightly, give that wry smile with a twinkle in me eye (huhr huhr), and I don't need to say a word. You just know what I'm about to say...

...so I don't need to say it then, do I!

Xym's list of exciting stuff (August '13)...

- Not ready yet -

There's been a heap of reschedules, and I've not had time to go through me spreadsheet and update it! I keep meaning to, but I keep wasting time having a panic on the streets of Norwich about me job, and playing Aminal Crossing 3DS. I'll get round to it soon.

Watch this space.

Not that space, you gormster!

This space.

Yet, this one here.

This one ear?

Who nose?

The only one-eyed gnome (who's come to take me away).

Eye really don't nose why eye bothers sometimes!

The Sun'll come up, for Alan...

...bet yer bottom dollar that tomorrow, Thereza Bazar's bottom will be worth more than a dollar. probably. But still not not as much as it was worth in the 80s, as everything from the '80s was priceless!

Anyhoo - the Sun has come out!

Curious that - what did I say yesterday? During the spawning of The Royal Lizardchild, it's all spooky hellstorms and frightening lightning, and now the aftermath of Antichristal awakenings has passed - glorious heatwave is the order of the day.

Made brighter by the arrival of The Messiah...

...or Alan Partridge, as he be known 'round there 'ere parts.

See - The World Premieré of Alpha Papa, the Alan Partridge movie, is being exclusively shown in the flea pit cinema in the derelict development quarter of Norwich. The slum known as Anglia Square.

Unfortunately, people are flocking to This Event and The Coming Of The Messiah. Clearly this set of adoring aspostles have no clue as to the Partridge phenemona.

What would truly make this an epic World Premieré, would be farmers picketing the Hollywood - blocking the entrance with tractors. A flea-bitten rag of carpet instead of a red carpet. And a solitary old tramp with a dog onna string begging for cash by the car park. Maybe a group of 5 obsessive Radio Norfolk listeners eerily dressed like Alan. Some tumbelweed rolling through the Anglia Square.

Now that would be truly worthy of a Partidge premieré.

But no - Norfolk types ruin the facadé by hailing him as a celebrity.

Alan's supposed to be an offensive, cringeworthy, tactless git. Only in his own ego is he worshipped as a actual popular celebrity and oblivious to his unpopularity.

See - they should've put me in charge of publicity! A nationwide broadcast of a world premieré, and no-one turning up. Lots of scenes of the worst bits around Anglia Square. Totally in keeping with the mythos, not to mention hilarious.

Maybe that should be my next job - Doing Unimaginative Peoples Jobs for Them With Exceptional Brilliance!

But on the plus side - forget that Freddie Mercury out of Queen go-go gorilla - we now has a 54th new gorilla on the trail. The Partridge Gorilla!

Monkey Tennis anyone..?

When a jackal spawns, it always fouls the weather for you...

So what the feck happened to the weather?

It was all, like, glorious sunshiney heatwave, and then...

Ermagherd!

Princess Kate goes into Labour...

...suddenly, the skies darken, thunderstoms roll and crash, lightning strikes and flash!

Now, I'm not one to cry conspiracy as you know, but coincidence? I don't think so. This definately has the end times sulphurous stench of And lo, unto ye Middleton, the ickle pwince of darkness hath been delivered all over it!

Crowded house?

Hounded spouse, more like! Hounded as in being humped by a hound - a hound in the form of a jackal!

I remember watching The Omen. Apart from Dr Who Number 2¹ getting impaled on a spire, there was that bit with the spawning of the Jackal's pup, and Damien being delivered in not too disimilar a stormy climate - all windy grey doom & gloom with accompanying choral singing by saintly monk-type pædo priests:

♪ Sanguis Middleton

Corpus Will Windsor

Sanguis Middleton

Corpus Will Windsor

Sanguis Middleton

Corpus Will Windsor

Royal Offspring Satani! ♫

Summat like that. probably.

Rosemary's Baby? Kate's Baby more like! Some incubus type Tokoloshe denuding Middletons of their knickers and impregnating them with satanic spunk from their demonic dongs!

Well. I, for one, refuse to kneel before the progeny of our satanic, reptillian, illuminati overlords!

I say we shave it's bonce in St Paul's Cathedral to look for a 666 birthmark, then apply the daggers of Meggido to He Who Would Bring Hell Unto Earth. And if there isn't one, tattoo it in felt tip, and apply the daggers of Meggido from orbit (it's the only way to be sure).

We don't want the Royal Son Of Simon Cowell, I mean Jeremy Kyle, I mean Satan bringing out the apolcalypse. If anyone should have a cloven hoof, it should be Kate in extremely tight fitting jodhpurs.

The Antichrist is here, despoiling our weather patterns with his unholy rebirth!

Hold on... Antichrist... Is that, like, Antifreeze, or something?

¹ AND NOT DR POO'S NUMBER TWOS. IN THE T.U.R.D.I.S (TRAVEL USING RECTAL DEFACATIONS IN SHITHOUSES).

Leonard Cohencidence...

Well, I watched this film over weekend.

It was called Tekken. Apparently, it was supposed to be all about Liam Neeson poncing about at the King of Iron Fist Tournament, all kung-fu like and going into "rage mode" and stuff.

Anyhoo, it was all rather convenient.

Liam Neeson doesn't want his daughter to go to the Iron Fist Tournament in case she gets sex trafficked. Mainly because he just happens to be an ex-Undercovery type agent who used to bust these types. But, ex-wife bats an eyelid and he relents. As you do. So, daughter goes off to watch U2 open each tournament.

Conveniently, the very first person she meets off the train is a spotter for the sex traffickers.

Ermagherd! She's been targeted! How convenient then, that she's on the phone to Daddy on the opposite side of the building to see her mate being kidnapped, so she can tell him she's about to get nabbed!

It's handy that the ex-wife married a wealthy business bloke, so he could use their Private Jet to get to Paris immediately then!

Handy - he goes to the girls apartment, and finds her phone smashed... with the SIM card handily undamaged. Phew - good job she got that nasty man to take her picture so he was reflected in the bus stop so Daddy could identify him!

Oh damn, Peter the perve has been hit by a lorry and ended up all deaded! What's dad to do now?

Coincidentally, one of his mates from The Old Days has a job as an intelligence officer, who handily directs him to some prozzies... who's pimp just so happens to be one of the sex-traffiing ring! One bug on the lapel... and by chance the pimp blurts out the location of the held girls!

Phew!

Sneaky sneaky - blag passage into brothel, and what a surprise - there's a drugged up abductee with his daughter's jacket! What are the chances of that, eh! Luckily, all the bad guys are crap shots and bad drivers, so Qui-Gin can easily carry her out whilst killing off bad guys and running them off the roads!

As luck would have it, the drugs wear off very quickly, and the woman remembers precisely where her daughter was being held.

So, posing as a policeman, he blags his way into the house. Duff, duff, duff up he goes, as the crap thugs fail to fight back or shoot. So, he's left with the ringleader. Tie him up and search the house - no daughter. Oh noes - her friends all drugged and raped to death! Torture the ringleader - time's running out!

Damn, Me Neeson is lucky! Somehow, the bad guys found out she's a virgin, so she's worth more and been sent off for auction! Phew - good job them Albanian rapers don't like virginflesh, innit! And hold on, this auctioneer... what a stroke of luck! He's been giving backhanders to Liam's old mucker! Handy that!

So, back to his old friend's pad to give him a duffing up and get the address of the Mishima Zaibatsu Corporation auction.

Run, Liam, Run!

Phew - would you Adam And Eve it! He arrives just in time to see the last woman come up for auction - and it's his daughter!  What a stroke of luck!

Oh noes - he's bopped on the bonce by a bouncer, and handcuffed to a pipe! His daughter's now lost, and about to be shagged by a sheikh!

Lucky that welded rivet is loose, otherwise that pipe would never come free, allowing him to fire steam into a bad guys eye, slide off the pipe, duff up the other bad guys, get the keys, un-handcuff himself and give the auctioneer a deadening.

Amazing - exits just in time to see his daughter dumped in a taxi! Good job Liam can run and keep pace with the speeding vehicle to the docks!

Oh noes - he's just a minute too late! Thhey've put her on a cruise ship, and it's heading towards the bridge!

Good jobs there's no cops about to stop Liam driving the wrong way through the streets and abandoning the car in the middle of a junction! And just in time to leap from the bridge onto the ship too - a huge drop with no injury (well, apart from the sprained ankle, which disappears once he's hobbled downstairs).

And lo-and-behold, he manages to save his daughter mere seconds before arabic cock invaded his precious princess.

So, if you're ever abducted into the sex-trade for the depraved desired of Egyptian magnates, fear not. For a plethora of handy instances will endure your rescue in the nick of time!

Apparently, there's a Tekken 2 too. So presumably his daughter didn't learn her lesson the first time.

Typical spoilt brat!

John West! Fish ain't peaceful there...

Sharknado! Mansquito! Mega Pythons & Gatoroids.

Everyone laughed.

But who's laughing now?

The prophets of Piranhaconda were mocked for giant  beasties terrorising Tiffany and devouring Debbie Gibson.

And now Fiction becomes Fact, as we have the first attack from...

The Titanic Tuna From Kauai In Hawaii!

Monstrous fish from beyond the deep, rising up to capsize captains who would net them, and serve them up in tin cans with a bit of sweetcorn (or cucumber).

You know what that means - Tuna Wars! Fred West vs Prince! Can anyone save Eduardo Wobblechops?...

..oh wait, this is B-Movie Roger Corman SyFy type stuffs....

Can anyone save Cathy "Heaving Busoms" Dennis (or insert any other young pop tart from the late 80s/early 90s ready to debase her career for another shot at fame).

And she'll have fun, fun, fun, till her Daddy takes her teapot away...

The consenus is in, and it's notion!

See, for years and years and years, I was convinced them Beach Boys opened their song with:
"♪ If everybody had a notion, across the USA, then everybody'd be surfin' ♫"

Which makes sense, coz it's talking about everyone in the USA having the same idea (or notion, if you will) to go a-surfin'.

Now, some peoples dispute this, and claim that it's actually:
"♪ If everybody had an ocean, across the USA, then everybody'd be surfin' ♫"

Now THAT makes fuck all sense! If everybody had an ocean across the USA, there'd be now BUT ocean! And then they'd all drown. Or be et by sharks. or something.

Of course, if you search t'internet, it'll come up as Ocean - but that's because the interweb is written by gormsters who just put up whatever old crap they hear - even if it's totally against the official lyrics put out by the band!

Anyhoo, I reckon it's not "♪ If everybody had a notion ♫", "♪ If everybody had an ocean ♫", "♪ If everybody had sun lotion ♫" or even "♪ If everybody had Snape's potion ♫"¹.

No, not at all.

I reckon it's all about some oirish strumpet, begorrah where's me gold y'english bastid leprechaun clover guinness potato to be sure bejaysus:
"♪ If everybody had Anne O'Síán, across the Emerald Isle USA, then everybody'd be surfin', but not the ocean waves ♫"

If you know what I mean, and I'm damn sure you do. Horizontal surfin', in the dunes with sand in yer snatch and clogging up yer jap's eye. And if everybody across the USA has had her, no wonder she's all clogged up! Emerald Isle? Emerald Isla Of The SS, like a Blue Waffle. probably. or not. as the case may be. or something.

Although I could be wrong...

¹ AND NOT, AS SOME POTTERERS WOULD LIKE, "SNAPE'S PORTION". STILL, IF SNAPE'S SLIPPING YOU A LARGE PORTION, AT LEAST IT'S NOT VOLDERMORT'S NAGINI INTERFACING WITH YER ORIFICE. OR SOMETHING. WHAT WAS THAT BIT IN THE CHAMBERPOT THAT SECRETES? OH YES...
“VOLDEMORT'S SNAKE, NAGINI,” SAID PIDDLE SOFTLY, “IS MY PAST, PRESENT, AND FUTURE, HARRY POTTER...”
HE PULLED HIS TROUSER SNAKE 'WAND' FROM HIS POCKET AND BEGAN TO TRACE IT THROUGH THE AIR, WRITING FIVE SHIMMERING WORDS:

SLIMMER DILDO, NO VAGINA ROT

THEN HE WAVED HIS WANG ONCE, AND THE LETTERS OF HIS NAME REARRANGED THEMSELVES:

I AM LORD VOLDEMORT'S NAGINI”

I believe in justice! I believe in vengeance! I believe in...

...getting the bastard who got the bastard who got the bastard who got the bastard who got the bastard who got...

Right, before I start, I'll warn ye now. This blog will probably piss some of you off. Once again, The Xym is going to make himself unpopular.

Although my true friends will understand that I can have a different opinion to theirs, so shouldn't be too irate with me...

So, that warning out of the way...

Some poltroon has posted a picture on Facebook, shared from the gormsters of I Am Proud To Be A Xenophonic Racist Bigot British, inviting people to like and share this picture:

Now, let me just explain what you're advocating here.

You're saying that Attempted Murder By Imprisoned Violent Criminals is "good news".

Sorry - but isn't Attempted Murder bad news? After all, it is sort of illegal. And before you excuse "an attack" as "just a kicking" - isn't that as bad? Or is crime justified, based on Daily Fail hysteria and xenophobia.

Let's remind ourselves here: The family of Lee Rigby wanted no reprisals against his accusers. So if anything, anyone who is "proud" of this violent thug's attack, or think it is "good news" is totally ignoring the families feelings, and insulting them by dishonouring their wishes.

Would it be good news if the scumbag serving sentence in prison was also attacked? Or, for those who say, "I  would have done exactly the same!" - would it truly be "good news" if you were given a damn good hiding for attacking someone?

Sorry, but this Shared Picture is nothing more than racist hate crime, and just perpetuates the cycle of violence. 

Let's put it in simples terms:

• Muslims¹ were fighting muslims
• Britain et al wade in
• British soldiers are killing "insurgents", "Rebels" and innocent muslims
• Muslims seek vengeance on their "terrorist, invading" attackers
• British soldiers continue killing "insurgents", "Rebels" and innocent muslims
• Muslims seek vengeance on their "terrorist, invading" attackers, and bring the fight right to their invaders' door
• Racist gormsters in jail seek vengeance for an attack on Innocent British Soldiers
• Supporters of the now Martyr'd soldier seek revenge on racist gormsters in jail?
• Eye for an eye for an eye for an eye ad-infinitum

- presumably all of which is this "good news"... or am I missing something?

I suppose those who create this sort of divisive imagery are those who think they're decent, British patriots - creeping around at night in balaclavas, drawing swastikas on mosques and planting nail-bombs in bins in retaliation.

Good news my arse - it's a depressing, sad state of bigoted Daily Fail bollocks.

And to inject a little "humour" into this most depressive of blogs...

...of course, if the murderous Adebolajo had nicked me hat, that would be a different story!

¹ MUSLIMS IN THE CONTEXT OF THOSE ZEALOTS FIGHING THEIR JYHAD - NOT THE MAJORITY OF PROPER, PEACEFUL MUSLIMS

Say what you want to say: Stakeout!

Now, I'm no "Grammar Nazi", but if someone tells me they have just partaken of "Steak and peanut butter Ben and Jerry's", I damn well expect there to be Steak and peanut butter Ben and Jerry's availabubble for consumption by The Xym!

I comes out of Specific Rimming, all aglow with excitement (despite the waffer thin plot and blatant rip off of homage nods to Evangelion, etc) when I checks me phone and sees the above message about meaty treats of the icy persuasion.

Awesomeness personified! And apparently all half price from Morrissey if you have a gall stone. or something.

So, with scant brevity of time afore the last omnibus home, a quick run from The Shitty Centre Voo down to Riverside, and a fraught search of the Freisian Frozen Fluids Freezer.

♪ No, no,
No, n'no, no,
No, n'no, no,

No, no... no steak ice-cream!

Nom! Steak ice-cream

Goes straight to your thighs!

Yeo Valley's too cheap

Rachel's oversized¹

No steak ice-cream

(just) Rhubarb & Lychee

We'll eat what we want

From our BOGOFF shop spree, yeah

TECHNO! TECHNO! TECHNO! TECHNO!² ♫

And then, a wiser Pretty than Xym asked the initiating pretty:"they make steak and peanut butter flavoured ice cream???"

Well, duhr! That's what she said. Don't stop, to ask. I want ice-cream with steak and make it last (ooo-weee-oooooh!)! Hold up, what's her reply...

"no"
"Oh you mean you had a steak, and then had peanut butter ice cream"
"Indeed! Silly woman."

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

There's me, crestfallen and all folorn, amidst a tossed tower of tubs of tropical tasting icy treats (fig & coconut, lychee and lactate, garlic and herb, flange & batter, etc), and all the time the promised delicacy was naught but a misunderstanding of grammatical interpretation.

And so I had to strop off back to the bus stop, and sulk all the way home.

On the plus side, I can replicate the delectable dish! I do have a 500m tub of proppa pukka un-turkey twizzled Simply Irresistable Madagascan Vanilla sat in the freezer...

...so tonight, The Xym is going all Hester Bloomin'Marvellous and ordering in one of them there Pizza Slut Steak Supremes from Dominos, picking out the steaky bits and squishing them into the vanilla ice (nice, Baby!). I've also got a tub of that Reece's Pisses Peanis Buttocks, so I'll swirl some of that in too.

Finally, I shall sit down to watch The Apprentice on Ketchup TV with my home-made tub of Stalk & Pierce His Buttocks I-Scream. Or cream over a screaming Louisa Zissman smeared in a 50% stake and pee (not butt tear) ice-cream.

or something.

Nommables galore!

♪ Some people stop at nothing

If you're searching for steak ice cream

Lay down the law

Shout out for more...
...And I want MORE

(And I need all the steak I can get)

I want MORE

(And I need all the steak that I can't get with... me ice-cream. y'bastid.) ♫

- Swing Out Sisters Of Mercy: "Patricia Morrisson's Stopped Stocking Steak Sorbet"

¹ THE TUB! NOT A SPECIFIC RACHEL. RACHEL'S YOUGHURT COMES IN MAHOOSIVE TUBS. AS OPPOSED TO RACHEL'S MAHOOSIVE JUGS (IF YOU KNOW A RACHEL WITH MASSIVE MAMMARIES). OR SOMETHING...

² CUISINART TECHNO - BLENDERS! TWIN CURL CUTTERS! PUREÉ EMULSIFIERS! JUICERS! AND ABOVE ALL - ICE CREAM MAKERS!

Next Time I look before I, pray on carpets...

Jyhad!

All them religious wars in that there Middle East, and the news never focuses on The Killim Fields.

You have them Arabian Knights, with their holy 1001 Dry Foam, for less than half a crown of thorns. How often does their plight get in the news? Why, I bet you haven't heard any of their hymns since the 1970s. But I reckon you can just about remember the rug hymnal:

♪ One Thousand and One Dry Foam — Does it right!
One Thousand and One Dry Foam — Cleans it bright!
A brighter carpet means a brighter home,
One Thousand and One Dry Foam ♫

On the other side, you have those who superceded the Dry Foamers. Like poor old England's traditional Pagan/Wiccan/Druidic religion being almost stamped out by mental christians forcing their religion upon our green and peasant land, Dry Foam Devotees were converted (by the sword of advertisement) to rival religion Sheikh 'n' Vac.

This proved popular, because as all Sheikhs know, women should be kept indoors at all times, cleaning up after their menfolk.

However, the act of pouring talc onto tapestries and running a hoover over it created a split in the Church Of Carpetry.

The very act of pouring perfumed powder upon the floor via a holy bottle leads to involuntary sashaying of the posterior, thus leading to full on dancing in wanton abandonment. And from out of this came Gospel Hoovering.

Witness the sermon by Brother Pinescented Glade:
"Let me tell you, Brothers and Sisters. Stale smells up here, Often come from down There. I said, Stale smells up here! Often come from down There! In Satan's cess-pit of a carpet. In you car-pet Brothers. Praise Jesus. Smells from your dawg! Smells from your tobacco too. And I tell you, Brothers and Sisters. I tell you this. Sheikh 'n 'Vac from Glade is here. It's here! on Earth! for eternal scent salvation! Yea, Brothers. Join me in prayer. I said, join me in prayer! Let us raise our voices in song so loud, God Himself! will hear our Hymn.  It's all you have to do:

♪ Do the Sheikh 'n' Vac
and put the freshness back
Dooooo the Sheikh 'n' Vac
and put the freshness back
When your carpet smells fresh, your room does too-oo-ooh
Everytime you vacuum, remember what to do
Do the Sheikh 'n' Vac
and put the freshness back ♫

But, alas, it's all Radical Clerics, Preachers Of Hate, Radicalised Muslims and Suicide Bombers that get all the press. What about the poor, belitled 1001 Dry Foam Cult and their Jyhad with Sheikh 'n' Vac?

Not a word on the BBC about Honour Killims, where sons/daughters who have converted from Dry Foam to Powder have been ritually slaughtered and rolled up in unkempt carpets soiled by rival religious holy cleansing products.

Not a peep out of Sky on radicalised ruggists, throwing molotov cocktails of shagpile and dryfoam through poundland storefronts.

Not even Talglia Telly covers the genital mutilation of male/female circumcision using the crude opening flaps of dryfoam/power, or taking their viginity with phallic dispensing bottles.

No, because hook handed terrorists are sexy, like Captain Hook in Once Upon A Time.

Not that The Xym finds Cap'n Hook sexy - Ruby/Red Riding Hood all the way! Or Regina as the Evil Queen. Sometimes Mary Margaret. But not Belle - Jesus, never Belle. Hated her in Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles, and hates her in this.

or something.

That's hen-tertainment...

"I don't like graveh"

So said Babs in Wallace And Gromit's Nazi Nasty Not-so Grand Day Out. or something.

But I guess someone else ain't too fond of gravy now, either.

Apparently, the OXO mum has been diagnosed with cancer.

Well, what do you expect, force feeding your family gravy for every meal?

"Mum, what's for breakfast?"
"Cornflakes..."
"Yummy"
"...with a gravy boat on the side. No milk for you - get that OXO down yer neck. I got to be a loose woman later this morning"
"Surprised you haven't got quim cancer then, you loose woman slaaaag with yer STD gravelpit gravy. Bitch. I want more than gravy every fucking mealtime. One day, I'll grow up, and I'll go all Jeffrey Dahmer on yer ass. Served up with a pint of OXO gravy. See how you like that, bitchfucker."
"What did  you say?"
"Nothing mum. Just saying how great your lovegravy is! Mmmmmmm! OXO"

I don't know - I blame that Daily Fail. Just about everything gives you cancer these days. Bacon. Chips. Kevin Bacon. Cake. Eating a packets of fags. Even having tits or bollocks.

And now they're demonising gravy!

And I've just polished off some orange sheepherders pie... with gravy! Oh wail and misery! Which will I get cancer from - the poured over OXO, or the onion ring chaser?

Quite how some people stay in jobs is beyond me. I won't bore you with the details of yesterdays still-employed "skilled" retards who still can't figure out how to use eMail, but instead I'm moaning about them there cookery staffs.

A tray with orange Sheepherders pie (urgh), ballbearing peas (urghle), rock hard carrots (bleurgh), and (now cancerous) gravy generously ladled over the top....

...with a cup of onion rings.

Yes - a cup of onion rings! They even have cups of spicy twisty fries!

I'm no Gordon Ramsey, but even I know "Eff me. They've put the effin' onion rings in the effin' cups - the effin' drinks go in the effin' cups, effin' garnishes go on the effin' plates. What the eff is wrong with you? Is it all an effin joke? You're effin' sinking your effin' team! Oi! You! yeah, you - eff-face. Effin' come here. All of you. Get here now. Look at that. Effin' look at thaaaat. It's in an effin' cup for eff's sake. Eff me. The effers over effin' there are efffin' tipping theirs onto their effin' plates, like effin' McFries on that effin' "we all have effin' McEffers in common". Well eff you. you want McEffin cuntyburgers, you can effin' leave right now. You're effin' killing me, for eff's sake. There's no effin' passion. You've effin' given up. Effin' bounce back you effer. Now eff off.."

And then I was ejected from the canteen... 

Cups of comestibles, indeed...

Xym don't exist when you don't see him...

Well, swallow my snitch and bounce my bludgers!

Apparently, Robert Galbraith isn't doing all that well as a writey man, what with his book languishing in the shit pile selling less than 500 copies in the whole wide world.

But suddenly, he's now got 500,000 orders, because Robert Galbraith isn't Robert Galbraith at all! 

Oh no! Robert Galbraith turns out to be JK Rowling, and by this revelation, the book has gone from being absolute shite unworthy of being wiped with the smeariest of waxen papers, to a golden nugget of perfectly polished prose!

So you CAN polish a turd. Simply by saying you're JK Rowling, author of the poorly written popular scriptals "Harry Potter and the Predictable Plots".

But Ms Rowling is even more popular than you think! Forget pretending to be a writey man, take off that blonde wig, gaffer tape her tits flat, put her in a blue suit...

...remove the Rowling...

JK! JK In The USA? JK as in...

Jeremy Kyle!

Jeremy Kyle Rowling, roving the UK being a writey woman on trains, whilst preparing lie detector and DNA tests.

I knew he was the most Evil man on Earth, but trannying up in a long Blonde wig to write about schoolboys waving their wands about and being abused by potions masters? And then to reverse tranny the tranny to be a crime writey man?

But is it really Jeremy Kyle... is it yet someone else pretending to be Jeremy Kyle posing as JK Rowling masquerading as Robert Galbraith?

Do you really know where The Xym goes when you don't see him? Is he off down that MouseTurd TV¹ secretly tarting up as Venessa Feltz pretending to be Jeremy Kyle posing as JK Rowling masquerading as Robert Galbraith as a secret identity to be later revealed in order to boost publicity for his blog

¹ LOCAL TV FOR LOCAL PEOPLE WITH A SUSPICIOUSLY LOCAL AROMA. OR SOMETHING.

Skittles & the butch ganstaroo...

Well, that I did not expect!

I guess it is America after all. Land of the free, Home of the bravely shoot unarmed kids.

Seems it's now perfectly legal to stalk black teenagers in Florida with a Firearm for purchasing I Can I Can't and Skittles, and when your scared prey flees and you hunt them down and get into a scrap, you can shoot them claiming self defense coz you're in a zimmerframe. or something.

Because it's all their fault for being a drink and sweetie purchasing thug.

You can even be trained in Mixed Martial Arts, and (even when picking on a weedy teenager) if he gets the better of you and pins you down and screams for help to apprehend his assailant, you can actually shoot him claiming you're in fear of your life!

Mad, the Americans. Quite mad.

Expect riots and such, for failing to jail a wannabe cop of the Rodney King duffing up persuasion!

'spose it serves the State right for persuing Murder 2, rather than Manslaughter.

Which, if you read it in a certain light, is actually Man's laughter.

Who'se laughing now?

Gun totin' neighbor watchin' hotheads (who claim not to know the name of the street they live on, nor any of the neighboring streets, and being an out-and-out proven liar).

That's justice for ya.

Y'all have a nice day now, y'hear. Y'all want fries with that?

Inspired by the Lord Mayor's thingy...

Twats with prams and feral kids
Twats with arms all interlinked
Twats who just get in the way
I hate the City on Saturday

Dickheads dancing in your path

Dickheads who loudly vent their wrath

Dickheads just get in the way

I hate the City on Saturday

Div's loose change with which they pay

Divs checking bags in shop doorways

Divs who just get in the way

I hate the City on Saturday

Cunts who walk at a snail's pace

Cunts who think they're in a race

Cunts who just get in the way

I hate the City on Saturday

Old gits shove in front of you
ignore those who are in the queue
Old gits just get in the way
I hate the City on Saturday

Schoolgirls bragging in Starbucks

of all the teachers that they've fucked

People with fuck all to say

I hate the City on Saturday

Couples having domestics

whilst they're having hissy fits

Couples to each other say

"We hate each other" on Saturday

Arseholes who are passing by

giving you the evil eye

Arseholes to be kept at bay

Especially on a Saturday

Politely ask "Excuse me hun"
It's not too hard, and then you're done
It's a good thing Xym don't have a gun
When he's out on Saturday

I'm a little thief, this is how I feel...

♪ I'm cold and I'm ashamed

Swimming nudie in your pool

You're a rattlesnake

I'm already torn with your serpentine tempting, spawn of ye pitte! ♫

How come I never get burglarized like this?

Some bloke's pottering about, when here comes a young couple!

"Ooooh, " says the young lady, "I'm ever so hot and sweaty. Can we nip in your pool to cool down? Oh, and I like to swim all nekkid with me teats out and EVERYTHING!"

So naturally, the poor pool owner agrees, and the strumpet promptly disrobes and goes off a-swimming whilst her friend goes off to buy cigarettes.

Meanwhile, the pervy pool owner stands there ogling watching her wet snatch opening and closing as she kicks her legs about, as her busoms rise and fall in the water, cresting the wave. He's definately thinking about Breaststroke.

However, her partner in crime isn't purchasing fags at all. Oh no! They're rummaging about the house nicking all his stuff as he's distracted by nudie women swimming in his pool! On the poolside radio, the tinny sound of Jon Bang Tidy out of Bang Tidy is singing...

♪ She's gonna strip off

Because she's hot

It kinda makes a difference if she's nekkid or not

Her friend's a burglar

But that's alright, she's pure...

My cock has just shot!

whoa - Her tits are bare!

Whoa-oh! Answerin' mah prayers!

Was that her flange? I glimpsed it I swear!

Whoa-oh! Answerin' mah prayers
I Saw Quim With Hair
(Oo-wah oo-wah oo-wah oo-wah etc) ♫

And then she gets out the pool, rivulets of poolwater dripping over her pert, oiled assets, and pooling down her trim arsecrack as the sun sparkles off her firm, rounded, glistening glutes.

So what does Homeowner do?

Get's her a towel to dry off, and then she suddenly gets all wet again

So, after her second moistage, he escorts her off the premises. All ramrod stiff with sexual tension, what is his chat up line?

"Do you wanna come to church?"

Say WHAAAAAAT? You got a hot nudie lady, all heaving busoms and dripping quim, and all you can do is invite her to church?

There's no hope for some people!

Oh wait... Church.... all pædo priests and singing in the choir.... "Here, pretty pretty, I absolve thee of thy sins... now get in the Little Mermaid outfit and git in mah pool! My, You sure do have a purty mouth! Thass it Ariel, take it like Neptune's trident up the ass! Scream like a pig - that fat pig Ursula! Don't worry - the Vatican will cover up for me! Praise Jesus! Mah tadpoles are swimming deep into your bearded clam cavern. Ooooh yeah, baby. Hey.. who's that... oi! Stop nicking me stuff! Just you wait until I've chucked me muck up your denizen of the deep decoy whore here, and then I'm a-comin' for you. Pa - Git mah banjo string... outta Ariel's purty mouth" etc, etc