Sunday, June 28, 2009

ART..is it a toilet splattered in vomit?

I have always been one those annoying people who excels at absolutely anything I throw my hand to. Occasionally I'll mess about with a paint brush and end up producing something Van Gogh would be envious of. Tracey Emin in fact once said that I had a pretty good chance at getting into the Saatchi gallery, cause my work was that good. And I only do it is a hobby. Now I have never been one to brag about my artistic ability, but it is an undeniable fact that I have been blessed (some might say ‘cursed’) with a superior vision to most of society.


It’s a sad day that sees artists with real integrity beaten down by loud-mouth sensationalists. Last week some sexual deviant stumbled upon my blog. After reading my work he felt compelled to give me a telling off. And subsequently then blocked me from his facebook page. The pillock. I only accepted the friend request as I thought the man was a fellow artist. I was wrong on many levels. A graffiti artist is more vandal / scourge on society than artist. I really do despair at what people class as talent these days. Writing your tag name on a wall and stenciling some profound piece of wank on a shutter is not art. It's bollox and should be defecated on.

“Artist? you don't know the first thing about Picasso's brushwork“! I yelled at the computer screen. Street artists are a bunch of tossers who failed there leaving cert,drink their own piss, and masturbate hourly over the self proclaimed “art terrorist“ banksy. The most pathetic part about it is that they are surrounded by sycophants who would say vomit splattered on a toilet seat is innovative and displays a great use of colour.

Alas the vicious animal had already blocked me before I got the chance to inform him what a giant cunt cough he was. To call me a homophobe is laughable. If anything I am a big supporter of gays. One of my best friends is a FUCKING FAGGOT (he loves it when I call him that!)

Calling me a bender basher is bad enough but calling me a racist is what really got my panties in a twist.I believe racists should be locked up, in fact they should tortured and then gassed.If you are a decent person with a job, who doesn't commit crime or beg in the street like a dog, then you're okay with me.Whatever colour your skin is. I am someone who stands up and fights the hard fight for the rights of those less fortunate. This is why I oppose racism and now all graffiti scum.

Wednesday, June 10, 2009

R.I.P Faesch

Most recently I've been accused by my boyfriend of killing his goldfish. Last night at 23:45 goldfish Maria 'Faesch' Fish was found dead in her bowl. Her body was discovered by my distraught boyfriend ,Adam ,who immediately suspected foul play. From the word go , Faesh had been a problem in our relationship. She clearly had issues with Adam having another woman in his life. Up until we met, Adam could only be described as a disgusting lay about, who spent his days sitting in his own filth, playing his beloved guitar and talking to the slimy ginger whore who resided in the bowl beside his bed.



Like playdoe I'm moulding him into the man I want him to be, a job which I don't take lightly. He's trying very hard to be a real man(bless him), and – with my help – he has come on really far in recent months. Adam isn't as talented, good looking or smart as me. And he fancies himself as being a singer/songwriter.Yuck. Him and his mediocre indie band of wankers make me want to vomit. After his last painful gig , I warned him that he better get his head out of the clouds and give up his juvenile hobby (and that’s just what it is, because it will NEVER be his career).



At this point I would like to point out that the fish had not entered my mind, and whatever crime I may have committed was not premeditated. At the end of the gig Adam decided to dedicate his last song to me in the hopes that maybe I would let him keep his band going. I think it made him look even more of a twat . Does he think that I am so naïve that I will be won over by some pathetic naming ceremony?



Later that night the insolent pig told me he would be playing a few more gigs as not to let his other band members down,who apparently couldn't find another guitar player . Which is complete crap. I told him I knew for a fact that any greasy haired busker off the street could have filled his shoes and he was to be expecting a two month sex ban. He whimpered on and on about how I was trying to change him and that he wasn't going to give up his guitar and he was keeping Faesch by the bed. Alas he wasn't able to argue his point very well. Having a degree I'm far superior at constructing an academic argument and he just wasn't eloquent enough to compete.

I didn't give a shit how many years him at that damn Fasech have been together, it's over now, he's with me and I wasn't going to stand by as she tears our relationship apart. She was becoming like an annoying ex girlfriend. And you tell me one person who wants their partners ex watching them with their bulbous eyes while you..well..you know....

And FYI just BECAUSE I am closer to god than most, classy and not willing to state the obvious . You might come to the obsurd conclusion that I am prudish . But, I have to break this to you: I am the princess of passion ,the countess of copulation and the duchess of dick!

Anywho whenever I finish up with a former partner, I want that person to get the fuck out of my face FOREVER and I probably wouldn’t even care if they got stabbed. I'm a real woman, an intelligent woman. I can talk-eloquently, I can dance, I can sing, I can write, and I can put on make-up better than that slut. I'm a human for god sake.So why on earth does he insist on keeping her in his life? Arent I enough?

It would appear I will have to be now that Faesch is swimming with fishes, shall we say! I flushed her before Adam had the chance to do an autopsy. I won't get into how Faesch met her fate as it's just crass and above all incriminating for my good self.

I let Adam write a song about her on the guitar and we sang it over the toilet. At the end of the day I'm a rational,warm loving woman and it's just a matter of time before Adam realises just how right I am about the fish, the band, and all my ideas for his future. I would make a fine wife for him, bear sons for him, die for him, well , take a bullet for him, but then survive and get a bravery award or something. How many men can say that about their women (really)?


It’s true what they say: girls are simply more emotionally mature than boys, and if Adam needs me to shepherd him out of the darkness and into the boat of true love, then I will stop at nothing until I have done just that. NOTHING.

Wednesday, May 20, 2009

Weight Watching Wenches

Last night my fat friend asked to come to weight watchers with her for support. I assumed she wanted me to support her weight , as lately walking around appears to be a struggle for her. So I politely declined, diplomatically explaining that it would just be too upsetting to the other women to see a vision of my proportions there. Considering they were probably already very low on self esteem ,I didn't want to be the one to stick the boot in. The demanding cow, sniffled on about how she couldn't go alone and since she hadn't left the couch and removed her gigantic paw from her family packs of crisps since her boyfriend had dumped her, I caved and decided to go on yet another charity mission. She was becoming an embarrassment.Somebody had to do something. And that somebody was me.



I felt distinctively uncomfortable as I followed the wobbling whale into Weight Watchers. I swear that from the minute I entered the room, I received threatening looks from every woman there. I can only attribute this to jealously of my catwalk model proportions. I refrained from having a go at them as it was just too easy to start name calling. I also pitied their desperate situations.



One poor pudding pants had dragged along her boyfriend who looked particularly out of place as he also was quite petite like myself, which somehow made it all the more wrong. I gave him the nod upon seeing him. And rolled my eyes behind my mates back, just so that if it wasn't blatantly clear enough by my physique, I also had been put up to coming there by a fatty. His girlfriend eyed me up suspiciously. She then quickly started talking animatedly at him, throwing her head back laughing like a jolly jumbo, possibly to display what a happy couple they were. She wasn't fooling anyone.It must have been so difficult for her to see her man desiring a woman as exemplary as myself. If I could change things I would; I don't want to live in a world where where I get eye-balled by heifers and desired by their bizarre companions. That would be a LIVING HELL, but theres only so much I can do. I'm just one woman.



The session started with a weigh in. It was unfathomable how much some of them weighed in at. I couldn't help but remark to one lady that she was in fact 4 times my weight. I mean that's obese she should be going into hospital not a meeting in her parish hall. The meeting continued with a rather mortifying get it off your chest chat. They gave out stickers to women who lost a few pounds etc, which was all very degrading. They all feigned happiness for the lucky sticker holders, but I could tell they secretly wanted to kill them perhaps by cannibalism. The best part of the meeting was when they talked about food, what they craved, how the caved etc. One particular woman lived up to the harsh stereotype that fat people are all lazy and stupid.



"I was a bit low last week as a suffer from depression", she started, with an excuse ! " and I went to the chinese" . "Ohhhhhhhhhh" I remarked trying to get the others to join in, alas it was to no avail. Which is a shame as ridiculing these types is sometimes the only way to help them. She nervously babbled on about eating nearly everything on the menu and then falling into a self indulgent pit of depression which in turn was the reason she never bothered her fat arse to do any of the exercise she was assigned to do. Which I must note was only a 20 minute walk PER DAY. I mean for crying out loud.



I suffer from depression also yet I'm not the size of a house. My work as a chief executive of a notable company has me firing dullards on a daily basis. This is at times is distressing, but you don't see me eating every single feeling that runs through my perfectly sculptured body.



After the rather entertaining ordeal was over. I decided I could do a much better job myself at getting the obese epidemic under control. These people got themselves in this mess, they should be disciplined not hugged and told it's alright for having an off day. They should be publicly berated. So with that I decided to offer to talk to the morons next week. Alison, my mate ,said they wouldn't to hear from a woman who's never been overweight. "Ridiculous" , I scoffed. "Maybe if they had an archetype like me to look up to they might finally whip themselves into shape."



Alison then declared I was making a scene and waddled out the door. I mean some people.The lengths I've gone to help that down -and-out who if I can speak frankly is a fat cow. She can forget about calling moi when she's suicidal and alone. Because let's be honest she probably wont find another boyfriend. I'm at my wits end with her. Eventually I will probably go back to her at some point but that's only because I have the patience and heart of a saint.

Monday, May 18, 2009

Do not pass comments and do not pass go

Anyone who has ever met me will you what an inclusive and tolerant person I am. I let people of any colour or any disability sit beside me on the luas or the bus. Just the other day I let a man with Parkinsons sit down beside me.I didn't even so much as scowl when with his incessant shaking he knocked my bottle of Evian out of my hand. This is just an example of one of the selfless things I have done when faced with a less able. But in all my years not once have I heard a whisper of thanks from any of the coloureds or handicaps.

Yesterday, in my local shop, when innocently buying a carton of milk, I was accosted by the shop keeper ,Muhammad. I ask you :What sort of person comments on the appearance of an acquaintance ? Well, the answer is Muhammad, the rude ,annoying ,twat face. And before you go thinking this sounds fishily racist , let me tell you it's not because he's an ethnic. I'll have you know that two of my favorite male actors are as black as the night.These Islams can worship whichever god on whichever day they want. But they can shut their mouth when it comes my appearance.

I look stunning most days, so yes ,maybe it is more notable when I look average/ pretty but unless you're telling me I look fabulous don't you dare interrupt my day with derogatory comments. Muhammad, to be fair ,has told me I look beautiful on more than one or two occasions, in fact ,quite frequently. Yesterday I had been babysitting for my step sisters disabled child, which was extremely taxing . Incidentally the mean Jew (she married a Jew, so by rights I can say that) , well, she didn't so much as attempt to pay me. As you can imagine, I was worn out and feed up and possibly not looking my flawless self. Yet Muhammad felt the need to laugh at me saying I looked tired and different. Thank you for that Muhammad, you can barely speak English but you've managed to upset an innocent woman. Well done.

Those sort of comments are just not necessary especially after I've spent my Sunday helping a child with serious learning disabilities do their homework. Many people think Dyslexia is a faddy mental illnesses that children claim to have when they are just stupid and lazy. They are very much mistaken, I have seen first hand how Dyslexia can ruin a family. I work tirelessly with charities. I support families that have been touched by Dyslexia, in fact I'm a disabled persons wet dream.

Anywho ,I digress, back to the issue at hand. A word to the wise ,for all you comment makers ,keep your pie hole's shut if you have anything less than complimentary to say, and if you must pass remarks make sure to have the grace to speak good English.