tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-81970785070997027572024-03-14T03:21:57.545+00:00The Zezaurian SocietySort of like the Scouts, if the Scouts were all depressed alcoholics.
Email Zezaurian.society@gmail.comThe Zezaurian Societyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14797328402617241408noreply@blogger.comBlogger88125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8197078507099702757.post-71103156425895395662017-07-18T11:05:00.000+01:002017-07-18T11:05:54.946+01:00The Zezaurian Guide to Wild Cooking<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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In some kind of unconscious rebellion against food pornographers, eating dirt-filled slop on the cold ground, naked, covered in nettle stings and insect bites has become the latest way for Zezaurians to purify both their souls and their colons.<br />
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Instead of taking pictures of food as if planning to fornicate with it after the shoot, we have now fully embraced wild dining along with its numerous frustrations and challenges.<br />
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Yes, <i>sometimes</i> after consuming one of our camp-stove creations you need to be de-wormed, but by eating our disgusting slop you’re making solid progress in removing all the smug posing that has become such a staple ingredient in contemporary cooking.<br />
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So get ready to singe your moustache hair and worsen your piles: here is the Zezaurian guide to cooking in the wild.<br />
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<span style="color: yellow;"><b>Your tongue is only a thermometer</b></span><br />
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Taste is ephemeral. Food spends literally seconds riding over the top of your tongue before spending the next five hours rotting in stomach acid.<br />
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In the wild you should only think of this muscular organ as a temperature gauge and try to get the food into your gut as quickly as possible. Do not talk. Do not breathe. Do not comment on the beautiful sunset. Test the slop’s temperature, and if it’s anything between ‘lukewarm’ and ‘manageably hot’, get it in your belly before something else eats it.<br />
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You may have made the food, but you’re not the only one in the wild that wants it. Insects, rats, badgers, boars. They all want your slop. Limit the chances they will take it from you by speed eating.<br />
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<span style="color: yellow;"><b>There’s a substitute for taste</b></span><br />
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Don’t fret about the beige homogenous gloop on your plate not tasting of anything – Zezaurian wild cooking substitutes flavour for <i>quantity</i>. It’s a fair trade-off and is central to our culinary philosophy.<br />
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Less taste, more slop. Balance is maintained, so quit fretting and shovel that crap down your throat before the doggers arrive.<br />
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<span style="color: yellow;"><b>Mind games</b></span><br />
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The standard issue <a href="http://trangia.se/en/" target="_blank">Trangia</a> stove that all Zezaurians should own, alongside their feelings of self-loathing and social anxiety, comes with two small bowls and a pan. Making anything more than regular slop on one of these things – say, <i>spicy slop, miscellaneous gloop and swill</i>, served together on one plate as a mezze – is actually like solving a brain teaser, not dissimilar to the riddle of taking a fox, a chicken and a sack of grain across a river only two at a time in a boat.<br />
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How do you half-cook the slop, keep it warm, half-cook the gloop, and keep them both warm, then boil the swill while re-heating the slop and then frying the rest of the gloop before reducing the swill and getting everything on the same plate at the same time at the same temperature? By sheer, uncontrollable panic. Burned hands and a toilet mouth is our strategy. Try it.<br />
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And please remember: temperature is everything here. It must be VERY hot. Do you have any idea how expensive it is getting de-wormed?<br />
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<span style="color: yellow;"><b>Washing up</b></span><br />
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The only other use for your tongue is to superficially clean all utensils, so get licking like <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cuSQ764RiJI" target="_blank">Khia</a> holds the whip.<br />
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<span style="color: yellow;"><b>Celebrate the ending</b></span><br />
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Defecating is, ordinarily, performed with very little ceremony or pomp. But why? The end is still a part of the meal as much as the start is. Have we been socially conditioned to distance conversation from this most essential of farewells?<br />
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Own it. Enjoy it. Smell it.<br />
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<i>Instagram it</i>, you fucking posers.<br />
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<br />Drib Drabhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04934482245226373571noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8197078507099702757.post-70637012034631618742011-09-27T17:58:00.000+01:002011-09-27T17:58:12.986+01:00So Long...You've been with me for years. Together we've trod in shit, danced like a boob, run away from fights, splashed in piss and kicked people in the balls.<br />
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The best pair of shoes I ever had.The Zezaurian Societyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14797328402617241408noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8197078507099702757.post-29380903951119352952011-07-31T22:18:00.000+01:002011-07-31T22:18:57.155+01:00Z Camp 2011<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ij1BWJV9cm0/TjXCbgaJvJI/AAAAAAAAAbI/VN_fUe6HNx4/s1600/X.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ij1BWJV9cm0/TjXCbgaJvJI/AAAAAAAAAbI/VN_fUe6HNx4/s400/X.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-gUBz-LXcQ7E/TjW_Md7sOPI/AAAAAAAAAag/WpTsCTi-Vmc/s1600/P7300749.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-gUBz-LXcQ7E/TjW_Md7sOPI/AAAAAAAAAag/WpTsCTi-Vmc/s400/P7300749.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; 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margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-_kRBMRV3yNY/TjXCxp0S2qI/AAAAAAAAAbQ/0_F27CNyJvY/s400/Z.JPG" width="300" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-heYrFv7eYnc/TjXDJwoUW5I/AAAAAAAAAbU/Dh2B_V759s4/s1600/Z2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-heYrFv7eYnc/TjXDJwoUW5I/AAAAAAAAAbU/Dh2B_V759s4/s400/Z2.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-BVf0VZMiSs4/TjXDVnehM_I/AAAAAAAAAbY/sFCh3rVjN34/s1600/Z4.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-BVf0VZMiSs4/TjXDVnehM_I/AAAAAAAAAbY/sFCh3rVjN34/s400/Z4.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-mFTJkfBUh7w/TjXDaUIycSI/AAAAAAAAAbc/jSFmjPjgPus/s1600/Z5.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-mFTJkfBUh7w/TjXDaUIycSI/AAAAAAAAAbc/jSFmjPjgPus/s400/Z5.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-S660w3eR5Ik/TjXDe8-degI/AAAAAAAAAbg/zRXfdxgoC94/s1600/J.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-S660w3eR5Ik/TjXDe8-degI/AAAAAAAAAbg/zRXfdxgoC94/s400/J.JPG" width="400" /></a><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-yjdfgbCeIzI/TjXA2mFq31I/AAAAAAAAAaw/nM4fogQhhp8/s1600/I.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-yjdfgbCeIzI/TjXA2mFq31I/AAAAAAAAAaw/nM4fogQhhp8/s400/I.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>The Zezaurian Societyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14797328402617241408noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8197078507099702757.post-36853730914280694832011-02-22T12:54:00.004+00:002011-02-22T20:26:33.254+00:00Falcon Punch<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-MFY6hogopdE/TWOvfPnWeOI/AAAAAAAAB_8/vAFZEnHh_5A/s1600/thumbnailCAZ81RII.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="188" j6="true" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-MFY6hogopdE/TWOvfPnWeOI/AAAAAAAAB_8/vAFZEnHh_5A/s200/thumbnailCAZ81RII.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>Ka-pow.<br />
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Recently I have been running instead of cycling around London in an effort to up my fitness levels. I’ve even been drinking protein smoothies to get RIPPED and reduce my bra size. But that is not today's story. <br />
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No, civilians. That is just the "intro" to today's story.<br />
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You see, when going around London on a bike you’re usually concentrating hard on not getting run over by prawn-heads driving with low IQs and yabbering into their mobiles. However, now I'm on the pavement my view of the world is different and I seem to notice <i>just how many people throw litter on the ground.</i> <br />
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I don't know about you, but littering is just about the worst thing a human can do. It shows such a fundamental lack of respect for anything that if you're happy to lob a coke can into a defenceless bush, then you’re probably cool stabbing a baby in the face.<br />
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In short, nothing bursts my piles more than litter bugs. And yes, I said "litter bugs" like I'm seven and learning about the environment for the first time. But that's what they are: bugs to be squished and shat upon by us decent folk.<br />
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Now, the only problem I have is that if someone is okay stabbing a baby/littering, then they're also probably okay punching me in my beautiful face too. That's why, <i>thus far</i>, I've never had the balls to tell a litter bug to pick up their rubbish and put it in a bin like a normal, fully developed and reasoned person would.<br />
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This vexes me because it makes me a weakling.<br />
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Well, turds to that, because I just passed the ultimate Good Citizen Test this morning when I was walking to work and a couple (an actual husband and wife <i>tag team</i>) attacked a man in the street.<br />
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I have no idea why the couple did this, and I didn’t hear the argument because I was listening to Justin Bieber's latest opus on my headphones. But, as everyone stood around watching, I still rushed over and stepped between the punches, kicks and screams...and HOLY SHIT, like a mutha-chunking <i>super hero</i> I actually managed to break that shizzle up. I even took a few punches, but shrugged them off like they were no thang (however, I did later wimper a little, alone, in a toilet cubicle).<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-8RFh5jkkhyo/TWOwBvsggWI/AAAAAAAACAA/mxGCdP1NJN8/s1600/falcon+punch.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; height: 213px; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; width: 233px;"><img border="0" height="159" j6="true" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-8RFh5jkkhyo/TWOwBvsggWI/AAAAAAAACAA/mxGCdP1NJN8/s200/falcon+punch.bmp" width="200" /></a>The fight ended and I actually managed to restrain a bigger man than me, telling him to "cool it."</div><br />
What an amazing thing to shout into a stranger's face. "Cool it, bro...not on <i>my</i> watch."<br />
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So yeah. I assume this means I'll be fine telling a litter bug to use the rubbish bins the council conveniently provided in future. Non? <br />
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Whatever it means, I’m now known as The Zezauriator.<br />
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Please use the bins provided.Drib Drabhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04934482245226373571noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8197078507099702757.post-31807170375999125172011-01-17T15:27:00.001+00:002011-01-17T15:33:35.641+00:00A Zezaurian guide to making a crap birthday present slightly less crapMy dad is literally the hardest person in the solar system to buy a gift for. He has a few hobbies, such as beekeeping and hiding in his shed doing goodness-knows-what. But, at 61 years old, with reasonable wealth, what more do you need? You already own everything you want to own, such as those drill heads and that <em>Expert Guide to Falling Asleep During Any Film</em>. I scoured the internet for <em>weeks</em> trying to find him something. But Nothing. Out of all the millions and millions of things you can buy, he doesn’t need any of it. <br />
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</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">So, in a panic, I just got him some beers for his birthday, which felt like a safe bet. But that’s pretty boring and makes me, the “creative and thoughtful” eldest child, look a bit like an uncaring and uncreative shit head.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Assuming you’re reading this whilst nodding your head, thinking; yes, my dad is also a pain in the ass when it comes to gifts, try this alternative approach: make the fucker work for it. Do you know how much time I wasted looking for something for you on the internet? That was Drib Drab's internet <s>porn</s> time, buster. So I buried my boring beer gift in the woods -- got the coordinates for the tree I planted them under and drew him a map. It's a punishment for being so difficult.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
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</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Using his dorky GPS gizmo, off he goes. Puff puff, pant pant.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ImUXV1Ic7Kk/TTRcWXA6jjI/AAAAAAAAAaU/xEDpPs3AeIM/s1600/DSC01862.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="179" n4="true" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ImUXV1Ic7Kk/TTRcWXA6jjI/AAAAAAAAAaU/xEDpPs3AeIM/s320/DSC01862.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">That’s it Steve. You’re welcome. What’s that? You wanted to spend your afternoon watching the DVD Box Set of <em>The Pacific</em> – the one thoughtful gift someone got you after working out what you’d actually like for your birthday? Ooops. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
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</div>I should’ve filled it with IOUs. Man, that would've been way more hilarious. Happy Birthday, <strike>you old fart</strike> dearest father. <br />
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Love from Drib Drab. xxxDrib Drabhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04934482245226373571noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8197078507099702757.post-79838917246343886672011-01-08T19:27:00.002+00:002011-01-08T19:29:38.714+00:00It's the bottom one.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://s-ak.buzzfed.com/static/imagebuzz/web02/2009/2/24/18/snout-in-the-bum-5570-1235516881-0.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="232" src="http://s-ak.buzzfed.com/static/imagebuzz/web02/2009/2/24/18/snout-in-the-bum-5570-1235516881-0.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><h1><span style="font-size: small;">Anal itching -- A rough guide</span></h1><div><span style="font-size: small;"> Anal itching may be just an annoyance, or may be so troublesome that it dominates your life. It is usually made worse by warmth, and is often most troublesome in bed. The skin round the anus easily becomes irritated and inflamed. This is because it is difficult to keep the area round the anus clean and dry; the skin is crinkly and traps tiny faecal particles. Eww. It is also sweaty and airless, and it may be moist from an anal or vaginal discharge. Double ewww. When it becomes irritated, scratching is a <i>natural</i> reaction, but this damages the skin further – what we in the business call the "itch/scratch cycle". </span></div><h2><span style="font-size: small;"> Causes of anal itching</span></h2><div><span style="font-size: small;"><b>Washing too much...or not enough!</b> Poor hygiene can be responsible for anal itching, but so can excessive cleaning, especially if you use harsh soaps or a brush. A fucking brush!</span></div><div><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></div><div><span style="font-size: small;"><b>Leakage of faeces</b> can lead to itching around the anus. This is made worse after tangy, vegan food. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: small;"><b></b></span></div><div><span style="font-size: small;"><b><br />
</b></span></div><div><span style="font-size: small;"><b>Ointments and creams</b> are notorious causes of anal itching. If you have itching, it is a natural reaction to buy an anaesthetic gel for the anal area. Most of these are labelled ‘for haemorrhoids’ and contain lignocaine, tetracaine, cinchocaine, pramocaine, chilli powder or benzocaine with other ingredients. At first they help, but then the itching may return because you have become sensitive to one of the ingredients in the cream or ointment and they are keeping the area moist. Do not use them for more than 1 week.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></div><div><span style="font-size: small;"><b>Skin conditions</b>, such as psoriasis or eczema, can affect the skin round the anus and cause itching. Pile can sometimes be itchy, partly because of the fucking gross, slimy discharge they produce. How have you even got friends?</span></div><div><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></div><div><span style="font-size: small;"><b>Fungal infections</b>, similar to thrush or athlete’s foot, are another common cause. Fungi fucking love warm, damp and damaged skin, so if you have an itchy anus for any reason and then damage the skin by scratching, fungi can take hold and basically have a massive party in your ass. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></div><div><span style="font-size: small;"><b>Sexually transmitted infections</b> are what many people worry about, but are not usually the reason.</span></div><div><ul><li> <span style="font-size: small;">Bum warts, caused by papillomavirus, thrive in warm, moist conditions such as the skin near the anus and can be very itchy.</span></li>
<li> <span style="font-size: small;">Herpes can also infect the anus if someone has rimmed you with a disgusting cold-sore.</span></li>
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</span> </div><div><span style="font-size: small;"><b>Bumworms </b>are tiny worms, about 13 mm long, which live in the lower part of the bowel. They are very common and make me want to throw up just thinking about them. The female worms, the dirty bastards, creep out of the anus at night – how they know it is night, and why they come out only at night, is an X-File. They lay about a billion eggs on the skin of the anus, causing intense, mind-numbing itching at night. When you cave in and scratch your bum hole the eggs lodge under your fingernails, and it is easy to transfer them to your mouth (you dirty weirdo) and reinfect your gut by swallowing the eggs. Aghhhhhhh!</span></div><div><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></div><div><span style="font-size: small;"><b>Pleasure.</b> It is worth asking yourself whether you are deriving a perverse, almost erotic, pain/pleasure from scratching the itchy area, which is keeping the irritation going. GO ON: ASK YOURSELF.</span><br />
</div>Drib Drabhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04934482245226373571noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8197078507099702757.post-63125765005447321362010-12-10T14:56:00.005+00:002010-12-10T15:05:05.599+00:00Zezaurian Award For The Worst Thing Said In 2010I'm absolutely fascinated by the Wikileaks story and every moral, political and philosophical question it throws up. But boy-oh-brother, have I read some bullshit in the past week. Most of this has come from our world leaders and the dickfaces they employ and collude with, but I think it's too easy to vote for them in our <em>Award for the Worst Thing Said In 2010.</em><br />
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That title is going to 'Bill40' commenting over at Comment is Free at the Guardian in a <a href="http://www.guardian.co.uk/technology/blog/2010/dec/10/hackers-loic-anonymous-wikileaks">discussion about the hackers targeting Mastercard et al.</a><br />
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Click on the image to read the entire, sorry mess -- and I think this can only be read in the voice of Alan Partridge:<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ImUXV1Ic7Kk/TQI-bf5YlEI/AAAAAAAAAaI/Nqa9Gj6Os6U/s1600/WWW1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="408" n4="true" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ImUXV1Ic7Kk/TQI-bf5YlEI/AAAAAAAAAaI/Nqa9Gj6Os6U/s640/WWW1.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">My Cringe Gland is has inflamed to the size of the fucking moon.</div>Drib Drabhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04934482245226373571noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8197078507099702757.post-20821509269370819722010-11-19T09:04:00.000+00:002010-11-19T09:04:31.281+00:00Dedicated, or just another victim of bullying?<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_IVdD1dYFFDQ/TOY7S2vPXfI/AAAAAAAABmM/q47B02GzI-U/s1600/Plug+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" ox="true" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_IVdD1dYFFDQ/TOY7S2vPXfI/AAAAAAAABmM/q47B02GzI-U/s320/Plug+1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Long time Zezaurian, <a href="http://zezaurian.blogspot.com/2010/09/hercules-beefcake-hurts-himself-again.html">Hercules Beefcake</a>, (imaginatively named at birth by his parents 'Tom Cox') has done something either entirely amazing, or has just fallen victim to some form of bullying.</div><br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">He left London to spend a few days with our solicitor -- both having recently been made out of work -- and next thing I hear from our law man is that he's convinced the fitness freak to sign a Change of Name Deed. In both a reference to the made-up Zezaurian name I gave him and with a less flattering reference to a well-known Bash Street Kid, 'Tom Cox' is now -- officially in the eyes of the law -- named "Hercules 'Plug' Beefcake".</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Click for full-size proof of this man's stupidity</td></tr>
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</div>I'm going to say this is both a form of bullying and coercion but is also entirely amazing. And now that he's signed it in ink, I really do see the resemblance.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_IVdD1dYFFDQ/TOY7LXtRhEI/AAAAAAAABmI/_O1jEYmYZgg/s1600/Plug+bash+street+kids.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ox="true" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_IVdD1dYFFDQ/TOY7LXtRhEI/AAAAAAAABmI/_O1jEYmYZgg/s1600/Plug+bash+street+kids.jpg" /></a></div><br />
DD.Drib Drabhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04934482245226373571noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8197078507099702757.post-67678909045601570102010-11-05T14:51:00.011+00:002010-11-17T11:26:00.301+00:00I did a bad thing (again)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ImUXV1Ic7Kk/TNQYR3zfjFI/AAAAAAAAAZ8/k6wk4MQCYvs/s1600/DSC01549.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="225" px="true" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ImUXV1Ic7Kk/TNQYR3zfjFI/AAAAAAAAAZ8/k6wk4MQCYvs/s400/DSC01549.JPG" width="400" /></span></a><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Hello, reader (and that’s definitely "reader" in the singular),</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">It's been a while. Partly because I have shunned technology to spend time exploring the soggy delights of <s>a woman</s> the Lake District...not with other Zezaurians, but with my parents. First observation: parents are much better company than people of your own age. They pay for <i>everything.</i> All food is totally free, you don’t have to pay for petrol and even accommodation is a just a given. I had my dad making me breakfast every morning for a week whilst my mother was busy preparing my daily jam sandwiches. They're like fleshy, good natured, mobile bank machines. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">When you go anywhere in a car more than 10 miles with anyone your own age they suddenly demand that you chip in on the running costs of the car. Do you see me asking for you to pay X% of my gas bill for that time you crashed over and took a shower? No. Sod off. Parents are way better than your friends.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Anyways. The Lake District.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Here is Drib Drab senior and I arguing about what was better: hiking with a girly GPS device that tells you everything, including when (and how) to wipe your bottom – or a 1973 edition of A. Wainwright’s fourth book in his fell walking series. (the GPS won whilst we were still navagating our way out of the car park).</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ImUXV1Ic7Kk/TNQQHK0OEiI/AAAAAAAAAZ4/lWnhot7V-lU/s1600/DSC01510.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="225" px="true" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ImUXV1Ic7Kk/TNQQHK0OEiI/AAAAAAAAAZ4/lWnhot7V-lU/s400/DSC01510.JPG" width="400" /></span></a><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Unfortunately, despite how amazing parents are, they are also, generally speaking, a little frailer than people your own age, and as such mine sustained minor injuries that stopped them from climbing the highest peaks on Day Two. So, in true parenting fashion, my mummy made me some more jam sandwiches and sent me up the mountain range on my own (but with the GPS device strapped firmly around my neck). </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><strong><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Twin Peaks</span></strong></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><strong><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"></span></strong></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ImUXV1Ic7Kk/TNQYknMQ3cI/AAAAAAAAAaE/FK_-IIaU0II/s1600/DSC01536.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="225" px="true" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ImUXV1Ic7Kk/TNQYknMQ3cI/AAAAAAAAAaE/FK_-IIaU0II/s400/DSC01536.JPG" width="400" /></span></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">The whole, lonely climb was pretty straightforward, except I was holding a wee in for about an hour and could never really find a spot to relieve myself -- there are no trees or bushes of any kind up there and I had been caught out the previous day when a group of children appeared from “nowhere” when I got my penis out by some trees. I kept on ascending higher and higher, with each step becoming more painful as I felt the searing hot pain of my exploding bladder bursting below my guts. I took a deep breath, however, determined to reach the summit before I relieved myself, as if it would be a little treat to for having reached the top.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">I got to the summit pretty quickly, hopping about with no time to celebrate as I found a small boulder to crouch behind and let rip. I had to be careful though as there were a few other hikers up there and I didn’t want them to see what I was doing; as if taking a slash is somehow a mysterious and creepy-weird thing that only creeps and weirdos do. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">I got down on to my knees, unbuckled my penis and let the hot gushes spurt out. It was a blissful feeling as my bladder drained; I even closed my eyes such was the pleasure I felt. However, with hindsight, that was my major mistake: it was as my eyes were closed that the most insane gust of wind literally curled the jet of piss into a perfect, horizontal U shape and sprayed it directly into my face. The weird thing is, I was so eager to get the fluid out of my body, and so keen to not be caught relieving myself that I just let it carry on that way for entire duration of the piss. Big fat yellow droplets of hot piss splashing in my face. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Within the space of 16 months </span><a href="http://zezaurian.blogspot.com/2009/07/zezaurian-music-dept-vs-poo-flap.html"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">I have accidentally pissed in my own face twice.</span></a><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> I’m thirty years old.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">On the upside my mother did all my washing.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">DD.</span></div>Drib Drabhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04934482245226373571noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8197078507099702757.post-90491587429043399182010-09-21T23:18:00.001+01:002010-09-21T23:22:04.148+01:00Hercules Beefcake hurts himself (again)There are not that many things that make me want to double over and vomit, and I'm pretty sure I've seen the worst the internet has to offer. But one thing that really, really makes me queasy is the thought of pulling off a fucking <i>toenail</i>. Jesus wept.<br />
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Hercules Beefcake is forever hurting himself (<a href="http://zezaurian.blogspot.com/2009/10/even-more-zezaurian-fuck-ups.html">example here</a>). True to form, he did it again a few weeks ago -- apparently kicking something so hard that his toenail, after bending backwards, 'died.' I'm not sure I understand the science here, but it's enough to make me ingest my own testicles. But it gets worse; as he pulled off his sock the other day it snagged and ripped most of it out. Here, in an awful effort to boost this site's stats, is the video.<br />
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Has this shit gone viral yet? Why do my videos never go viral?The Zezaurian Societyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14797328402617241408noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8197078507099702757.post-55870297413099435402010-09-20T09:48:00.001+01:002010-09-25T16:38:47.272+01:00Zezaurian Art Dept. going to "Hell"<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_IVdD1dYFFDQ/TJ4XaWxVdtI/AAAAAAAABeo/EpxfAPJd9bw/s1600/The+Pope.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_IVdD1dYFFDQ/TJ4XaWxVdtI/AAAAAAAABeo/EpxfAPJd9bw/s400/The+Pope.JPG" width="386" /></a></div><br />
It was so nice to have the Pope with us. God bless.Drib Drabhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04934482245226373571noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8197078507099702757.post-63566531852358456902010-08-17T21:24:00.000+01:002010-08-17T21:24:58.125+01:00Zezaurian online dating secures zero responsesPoor old Drib Drab. He was never very good with women.<br />
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If you're single and would like a date with DD, send saucy pictures of yourself to young.hentaiprincess102@snotmail.comDrib Drabhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04934482245226373571noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8197078507099702757.post-63039806866614583862010-08-09T21:23:00.003+01:002010-08-09T21:33:09.132+01:00Zezaurian summer in 12 shit pictures<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ImUXV1Ic7Kk/TGBg9_fGbzI/AAAAAAAAAZQ/dB8ENFf8QIY/s1600/29292_10150177904345456_505210455_12749158_7902610_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ImUXV1Ic7Kk/TGBg9_fGbzI/AAAAAAAAAZQ/dB8ENFf8QIY/s400/29292_10150177904345456_505210455_12749158_7902610_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Behold! a bunch of terrible pictures we took during our summer holiday. I think my favourite incident this summer was watching an old lady fall out of the back of a car, but I didn't have my camera with me so you'll just have to close your eyes and laugh at that one using your Mind's Eye.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;"><i>Please</i>, could you get any more pathetic? "Oooh, I'm so old and tired! Oooh, won't you give me a help up?" You should be on fire.</div></td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ImUXV1Ic7Kk/TGBbJLK1GKI/AAAAAAAAAYI/VDzZnH6lEcI/s1600/DSC01655.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ImUXV1Ic7Kk/TGBbJLK1GKI/AAAAAAAAAYI/VDzZnH6lEcI/s400/DSC01655.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr align="left"><td class="tr-caption">I'm 30 in a few weeks and one thing I've noticed about getting old is that you care a lot less about your outfit and a lot more about making things easier for yourself. I <i>like</i> having my camera on my belt; it's practical.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ImUXV1Ic7Kk/TGBbNsbzKOI/AAAAAAAAAYQ/hqeHH3vYgKk/s1600/DSC01625.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ImUXV1Ic7Kk/TGBbNsbzKOI/AAAAAAAAAYQ/hqeHH3vYgKk/s400/DSC01625.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;">I like how Wess has his big fat Ph.D., but Bill, still living with his mother, just has 42 regrettable years accumulating dork knowledge and a chronic addition to hentai.</div></td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ImUXV1Ic7Kk/TGBbmnDi_1I/AAAAAAAAAYg/Nns08VJEyME/s1600/DSC00907.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ImUXV1Ic7Kk/TGBbmnDi_1I/AAAAAAAAAYg/Nns08VJEyME/s400/DSC00907.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr align="left"><td class="tr-caption">Nice shoes, dickface. Do they make them for men?</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ImUXV1Ic7Kk/TGBb01Oy-vI/AAAAAAAAAYo/7R7Wk5QkQOA/s1600/DSC00958.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ImUXV1Ic7Kk/TGBb01Oy-vI/AAAAAAAAAYo/7R7Wk5QkQOA/s400/DSC00958.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr align="left"><td class="tr-caption">This is what happens when you get old; your skin falls off and you do really lame things, like write a blog about it.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ImUXV1Ic7Kk/TGBbatOgeoI/AAAAAAAAAYY/8Jr2DOLFVjU/s1600/DSC01240.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ImUXV1Ic7Kk/TGBbatOgeoI/AAAAAAAAAYY/8Jr2DOLFVjU/s400/DSC01240.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr align="left"><td class="tr-caption"> On further consideration, you do look about fifteen -- which I'm not sure is good or bad.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ImUXV1Ic7Kk/TGBce92a-cI/AAAAAAAAAZI/VnwMWEMNM5E/s1600/DSC01291.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="225" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ImUXV1Ic7Kk/TGBce92a-cI/AAAAAAAAAZI/VnwMWEMNM5E/s400/DSC01291.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;">Nice. Eight old people had to die just so <i>you</i> could sit down. </div></td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ImUXV1Ic7Kk/TGBcUspEi9I/AAAAAAAAAZA/BvToqcJAb2U/s1600/DSC01292.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ImUXV1Ic7Kk/TGBcUspEi9I/AAAAAAAAAZA/BvToqcJAb2U/s400/DSC01292.JPG" width="225" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: left;">It was still better than 'Avatar'.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ImUXV1Ic7Kk/TGBiLURC_PI/AAAAAAAAAZY/gGf8HokJR5o/s1600/Picture+3.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ImUXV1Ic7Kk/TGBiLURC_PI/AAAAAAAAAZY/gGf8HokJR5o/s400/Picture+3.png" width="271" /></a></td></tr>
<tr align="left"><td class="tr-caption">I think the best part of this is that he's not even high.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ImUXV1Ic7Kk/TGBiPgrv6aI/AAAAAAAAAZg/PDU84fBUTJ0/s1600/Picture+18.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="222" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ImUXV1Ic7Kk/TGBiPgrv6aI/AAAAAAAAAZg/PDU84fBUTJ0/s400/Picture+18.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr align="left"><td class="tr-caption">There is something immensely satisfying about pissing on to someone else's turd. It's the way you can break it apart and make it roll in the water like a dying whale. I think it harks back to our hunting days or something.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ImUXV1Ic7Kk/TGBiUVMSaTI/AAAAAAAAAZo/RZWNlcFeVSk/s1600/Picture+23.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="225" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ImUXV1Ic7Kk/TGBiUVMSaTI/AAAAAAAAAZo/RZWNlcFeVSk/s400/Picture+23.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr align="left"><td class="tr-caption">Hitting women always turns out <i>amazing</i> in photos.<br />
<br />
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>The Zezaurian Societyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14797328402617241408noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8197078507099702757.post-66111305579972379822010-08-01T12:14:00.002+01:002010-08-01T18:15:04.588+01:00Abortion Clinic: the best band that never existed<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_IVdD1dYFFDQ/TFVWYSeTWKI/AAAAAAAABdw/QxA7eIyQjD4/s1600/DSC00534_1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_IVdD1dYFFDQ/TFVWYSeTWKI/AAAAAAAABdw/QxA7eIyQjD4/s400/DSC00534_1.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
A few years ago I started a scream-core band called <i>Abortion Clinic</i>, which is the best name for any band ever. Try now to think of a better name. You can't, partly because you're a dolt, but mostly because it's unbeatable. Unfortunately I can't play any instruments, so we didn't even get to the practice stage, but I did just stumble upon some sample lyrics I had stored in my 'awful and embarrassing ideas' folder. Here, immortalised forever on a blog that three people read, the political venom of the greatest band to never have existed.<span style="font-size: small;"><i> </i></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><i>Untitled</i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><i><br />
</i></span><br />
<div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Blood on your thighs</i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Lies lies lies.</i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>A pain in your cunt</i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>But what do you want?</i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Vacuum it out!</i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Vacuum it out!</i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Twisting metal of destruction</i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Crushing bones of hate</i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Three weeks with no bleeding</i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Your period was too late</i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Now you have</i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Blood on your thighs</i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Lies lies lies</i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Blood on your thighs</i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Lies lies lies</i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Forceps of evil</i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Clamp open your womb</i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Of death! </i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Of death!</i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Of Death!</i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Mutant Twins of pain</i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Rip open your womb</i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Fists punch through into light</i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Put up the fight!</i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Blood on your thighs</i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Lies lies lies</i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Blood on your thighs</i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Lies lies lies</i></span></div></div><br />
===<br />
<br />
I know. I'm wasted working in retail. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_IVdD1dYFFDQ/TFVWviKEW9I/AAAAAAAABd4/PQqFRyvROko/s1600/100_1914.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_IVdD1dYFFDQ/TFVWviKEW9I/AAAAAAAABd4/PQqFRyvROko/s400/100_1914.JPG" width="290" /></a></div>Drib Drabhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04934482245226373571noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8197078507099702757.post-42752246894958888452010-06-24T12:08:00.000+01:002010-06-24T12:08:40.960+01:00Zezaurian Art Dept. feeling rough<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IVdD1dYFFDQ/TCM8aZ-EX8I/AAAAAAAABco/N-alA02rZkw/s1600/hangover+poo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="382" ru="true" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IVdD1dYFFDQ/TCM8aZ-EX8I/AAAAAAAABco/N-alA02rZkw/s400/hangover+poo.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>Drib Drabhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04934482245226373571noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8197078507099702757.post-76139856963704917492010-06-10T16:38:00.007+01:002010-06-10T16:56:59.192+01:00Zezaurian Rock Climbing Dept. admits failings<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IVdD1dYFFDQ/TBD_SvXog3I/AAAAAAAABcY/6ueiJNvQSpE/s1600/Shoreditch+Boulder.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="366" qu="true" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IVdD1dYFFDQ/TBD_SvXog3I/AAAAAAAABcY/6ueiJNvQSpE/s400/Shoreditch+Boulder.gif" width="400" /></a></div><br />
Not that anyone I tell about this cares, but I've taken to rock climbing over the past few months. I finally feel as though I’ve found my sport, but, as I mentioned a while back, it's a sport reserved for a very special brand of humourless dork, so I don't feel I really fit in at the local climbing club. <br />
<br />
One example of this was a few weeks back when I remarked to a fellow climber how much one of the climbing 'volumes' on the wall looked like a giant Picasso-esque vagina, but he just stared at me as if he’d caught me licking his dog. <br />
<br />
I also never understood why these nerds have to spend <i>thirty minutes</i> doing ridiculous warm-up exercises. Do you see He-Man doing some homo squat thrusts before kicking Twistoid in the ball-sack?<br />
<br />
Non.<br />
<br />
Anyways, my climbing skills have progressed enough for me to try stuff outside of the club, away from the nerds.<br />
<br />
If you live in London you might have seen the Shoreditch Boulder? If you haven't, it's basically a big rock in the middle of a park that you can climb on. I turned up last weekend, got my pot belly out for the <del>bitches</del> ladies, and started to climb it in the most masculine way possible, but I was suddenly thwarted by these mesmerising idiots: <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IVdD1dYFFDQ/TBD_tsRyY6I/AAAAAAAABcg/0TvU7WLW1k4/s1600/mesmerising+idiots.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" qu="true" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IVdD1dYFFDQ/TBD_tsRyY6I/AAAAAAAABcg/0TvU7WLW1k4/s400/mesmerising+idiots.png" width="300" /></a></div><br />
"John, John. Listen: this part is literally <i>teaming</i> with negative energy."<br />
<br />
"You're right, Valerie, but Ken picked up on some POSITIVE energy on the other side of the boulder, so we're dealing with something <i>pret-ty</i> major here."<br />
<br />
If the rock could actually talk, I can only assume it would tell them that sixty-two year-old virgins are Nature’s way of saying “give up.”<br />
<br />
So, after Ken suggested they all go back to his to listen to his collection of yawns, I got to climbing.<br />
<br />
<i>Ho-ly Shit.</i><br />
<br />
After ten minutes my hands looked as if they had been dipped into a bucket of cold sores. And my arms. Jesus God, my <i>arms</i>. I actually woke later that night in spasms of pain. I thought I was having a double heart attack. I’ve never paid any attention to “Sport Scientists” before, simply because that is what stupid people that manage to get into university become, but they might have a point about stretching before rigorous exercise. <br />
<br />
So, this evening I will return to the local climbing club. I won’t make any fanny jokes and I will take my warm up session very seriously. I will not moan when the colony of herpes on my hands begins to bleed and I will go home and do any crying into the muffled humility of my pillow.<br />
<br />
DDDrib Drabhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04934482245226373571noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8197078507099702757.post-11009017346465681542010-06-07T09:37:00.001+01:002010-06-07T09:39:31.020+01:00Zezaurian Art Department: Itchy<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IVdD1dYFFDQ/TAyvkIoaHQI/AAAAAAAABcQ/tBClDEzkeps/s1600/Crabs.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" qu="true" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IVdD1dYFFDQ/TAyvkIoaHQI/AAAAAAAABcQ/tBClDEzkeps/s400/Crabs.JPG" width="385" /></a>y"</div>Drib Drabhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04934482245226373571noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8197078507099702757.post-49320767929984235672010-06-03T11:23:00.001+01:002010-06-03T13:25:01.655+01:00Knob in a pot<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_IVdD1dYFFDQ/TAeCYffbjfI/AAAAAAAABcI/IpuwOWOqIFI/s1600/vintage+dress.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" gu="true" height="322" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_IVdD1dYFFDQ/TAeCYffbjfI/AAAAAAAABcI/IpuwOWOqIFI/s400/vintage+dress.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
Our good buddy Michael, who always seems to contact us out of the blue with disgusting penis related stories, has just contacted us out of the blue with a disgusting penis related story. <br />
<br />
FYI...<br />
<br />
==<br />
<br />
Hello,<br />
<br />
I went for a cystoscopy yesterday. For Drib Drab’s benefit, this is where they stick a camera up your winkie and look in your bladder. I couldn't eat for 6 hours before the op so they took my order for food for when I came around from the anaesthetic. It was from a list of sandwiches, so of course I couldn't eat any. I explained to the assistant 'I'm vegan, I can't eat any'. She replied 'well if I read them out to you, you can tell me what you want'. I nearly shouted 'I'm vegan, not fucking illiterate!' <br />
<br />
They gave me some operation pants to wear which would have covered more if the were made from a thinning hairnet. On entering the operating theatre the operating assistant introduced himself as Adrian, but noted that it wasn't important that I remember this. The surgeon of all things had a stammer, so could hardly get his words out, which hardly instilled c..c...c...c...confidence. <br />
<br />
The general anaesthetic knocked me out pretty much instantly. When I awoke I was in a strange room and quite disorientated, I saw a man standing next to me and for some reason I still don't understand called out in desperate and pathetic voice 'Adrian...!' The man just said 'no'. I had to piss like crazy so this man, who wasn't Adrian, put my knob in a pot and I just laid back and pissed. When I looked down my thighs were smeared with blood. My knob kept dripping blood so I just left it in the pot of piss, not knowing that the fit nurse would be the one who'd have to remove it back on the ward. At least all that trauma makes the old fella swell up. <br />
<br />
Only trouble is that now when I piss it feels like I'm passing burning hot shards of glass, it actually makes me cry out. My boxers are so bloody it looks like I've had a miscarriage. And they didn't even find anything so it was all for naught! Best guess now is that the kidney pain I had was a small stone that I passed. I now have a dilemma, do I drink more and dilute the piss but have to break the blood seal more often, or do I drink less, so piss less, but have it more acidic so it stings more? If I drink too little there's a chance my knob will heal too well and seal off completely, resulting in a return journey and the forceful reopening of my already battered urethra. <br />
<br />
M.<br />
<br />
==<br />
<br />
<a href="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/3/33/Cystoscope-med-20050425.jpg">P.s. This is what they stuck down his cock.</a>Drib Drabhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04934482245226373571noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8197078507099702757.post-46123362546663570102010-05-24T20:02:00.000+01:002010-05-24T20:02:56.402+01:00Being a Zezaurian makes you popular<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Oh, wait. No it doesn't. I'm at work and I go out for, like, five minutes and someone does this to my banana. <br />
<br />
(That first line reads: "Good morning, Mr Pidgeon. The results from your trip to the GUM clinic are ready for collection...")<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IVdD1dYFFDQ/S_q9w_gVfpI/AAAAAAAABb8/25NCaC7Yw0A/s1600/Banana+message.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="376" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IVdD1dYFFDQ/S_q9w_gVfpI/AAAAAAAABb8/25NCaC7Yw0A/s400/Banana+message.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<br />
This is not the sort of badly spelt disrespect I thought I'd encounter after I become a member of the Zezaurian Society. I thought we'd get the same respect people with tattoos get.<br />
<br />
In light of this, I think we're probably going to have to change "The Zezaurian Society" to just "The Zs" or somin'. Maybe we need to turn it into a gang like the scary kids have on the estate behind our new HQ. We could start doing gang related things like having MySpace profiles and wearing REALLY big trousers.<br />
<br />
<i>And</i>, for the record, I only had chlamydia and they got rid of it ages ago.Drib Drabhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04934482245226373571noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8197078507099702757.post-4865945576634316722010-05-21T13:23:00.000+01:002010-05-21T13:23:11.369+01:00Zezaurian Art Department: Happy Birthday, Steve<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_IVdD1dYFFDQ/S_Z57J-rsCI/AAAAAAAABU8/biMASKWeA1U/s1600/Happy+Birthday.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" gu="true" height="398" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_IVdD1dYFFDQ/S_Z57J-rsCI/AAAAAAAABU8/biMASKWeA1U/s400/Happy+Birthday.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>Drib Drabhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04934482245226373571noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8197078507099702757.post-16877003823625059342010-05-18T15:11:00.001+01:002010-05-18T15:15:04.947+01:00Zezaurian Art Department: ianalphone<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IVdD1dYFFDQ/S_Kf0uPE9wI/AAAAAAAABU0/BwlE9S_lR4A/s1600/iphone+love.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="385" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IVdD1dYFFDQ/S_Kf0uPE9wI/AAAAAAAABU0/BwlE9S_lR4A/s400/iphone+love.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>Drib Drabhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04934482245226373571noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8197078507099702757.post-79223281749408681602010-05-18T10:41:00.002+01:002010-05-18T10:41:48.697+01:00Saying sorry to a dogOur amusing (and slightly posh) friend Jamie doing stand up. Who knew?<br />
<br />
<object height="385" width="640"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/lFQwGzg64IE&hl=en_GB&fs=1&"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/lFQwGzg64IE&hl=en_GB&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="640" height="385"></embed></object>Drib Drabhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04934482245226373571noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8197078507099702757.post-65254851178272459552010-05-14T13:36:00.001+01:002010-05-14T14:06:21.569+01:00Zezaurian HQ relocates, loses all dignity<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IVdD1dYFFDQ/S-1DoWxWtzI/AAAAAAAABUU/PdSBENy0xMk/s1600/untitled.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IVdD1dYFFDQ/S-1DoWxWtzI/AAAAAAAABUU/PdSBENy0xMk/s400/untitled.JPG" width="302" wt="true" /></a></div><br />
Avid losers,<br />
<br />
Stop logging in every day to see if there’s been an update. We’re fucking busy! Plus we had the internet confiscated after my mother saw what happened to the bandwidth during “lights out”. <br />
<br />
We’ve also been busy relocating the Z HQ to an even crummier block of flats. We’re now in a new neighbourhood that appears to be run, <em>Lord of the Flies</em> style, by a gang of incredibly intimidating eleven year olds. Word to the wise: don’t refuse to buy these children cigarettes from the shop. I had so much spit on my jacket afterwards I had to throw it in the bin as if it didn’t cost me £170.<br />
<br />
Anyways, the move, thanks for asking, went quite well. Only one minor hiccup: getting people shown around the flat we were moving out from turned into a minor headache. We had this slut of an estate agent walking prospective tennants in at all sorts of funny hours. The worst was a Saturday morning after I had managed to get rid of the world’s most annoying friend, Duncan, after an extremely heavy night on the alcopops. I finally got him off the sofa and out the door (after pouring yoghurt into his suitcase as punishment for being such a painful asshole) and surveyed the damage.<br />
<br />
I felt fucking awful and started sweating <em>really </em>badly. I stripped to my underpants and felt like crying but figured that having a poo and a shower would make me feel better.<br />
<br />
My hangover poo was pretty tremendous. It was a strange mixture; somewhere between a gas, liquid and solid and smelled much more sour than usual. Fucker was huge too; like a giant yellow-brown conger eel. Anyways, half way through the poo I heard the door buzzer go and I started laughing that Duncan had obviously found the yoghurt. It kept buzzing but I decided to just sit there and cackle to myself. The buzzing eventually stopped and I finished the turd, satisfied that I was the victor in my ongoing prank battle.<br />
<br />
Then, to my horror, the front door started to unlock. I listened, wondering who the heck it could be and then heard the unmistakable, nasal whine of the estate agent. <br />
<br />
"Helllloooo, Davvvvid…are you home? ...It’s empty, come on in."<br />
<br />
I quickly flushed and started frantically fanning the air as if the building was on fire.<br />
<br />
"Davvvvvid? Are you in the toiiiiilet?"<br />
<br />
My whole body had gone light. The bathroom door is about 3 foot from the front door and I could hear sheepish footsteps piling into the hall. I don’t really remember asking my hand to open the door, but it did so anyway, the betraying fucker. <br />
<br />
I walked out in my underpants, sucking my stomach in as the acrid smell of shit followed me like an embarrassing dog. I looked at the estate agent, smiled and then saw the two attractive young ladies she had with her. <br />
<br />
“Good morning” I croaked, watching them actually wince as the smell hit them. <br />
<br />
The estate agent quickly ushered them into the living room like a concerned mother, with me slowly following. Then I realised, standing there almost naked, that I didn’t really have anywhere to go. One girl had already started looking around my bedroom, the other heading for the kitchen which left me in the middle of the flat. So I just stood there, arms awkwardly crossed and my little penis poking against the light grey cotton of my M&S underpants.<br />
<br />
It was at that moment a little droplet of urine helpfully chose to leave the end of my penis and make a nice, fifty-pence-piece size dark patch.<br />
<br />
To be fair, the hangover was now completely cured by fear and shame.<br />
<br />
I received sympathetic smiles from the two girls, as if I was mentally handicapped, but living life as best I could. They chose not to even look in the toilet. Far as I can tell they didn’t move in.Drib Drabhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04934482245226373571noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8197078507099702757.post-55888465517603467262010-04-22T23:03:00.000+01:002010-04-22T23:03:23.892+01:00Politics yeah!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IVdD1dYFFDQ/S9DHVdO7NoI/AAAAAAAABTo/6x1009sW_B8/s1600/mass+debate.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="305" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IVdD1dYFFDQ/S9DHVdO7NoI/AAAAAAAABTo/6x1009sW_B8/s400/mass+debate.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
Heh heh. Jellyfish man certainly got me all hard.Drib Drabhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04934482245226373571noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8197078507099702757.post-54551084893553103592010-04-22T22:32:00.002+01:002010-04-22T22:35:57.452+01:00£1.65<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IVdD1dYFFDQ/S9C_I91djrI/AAAAAAAABTI/TJ3gJHa5b6s/s1600/1.65.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IVdD1dYFFDQ/S9C_I91djrI/AAAAAAAABTI/TJ3gJHa5b6s/s400/1.65.jpg" width="380" /></a></div><br />
I hate these cunts. So, the most cost effective option for me is to...to..? Wait. OK; I'll <i>post</i> it to Mexico and get it there. Wait, wait. I'll just pick it up on the door. Woah -- <i>hold on</i>. What was I thinking? I'll just post it to my mum's house in Peterborough. No, <i>no</i>. I'll <i>print it out at home</i>, using my own ink and paper. Right. I'll go with that one then. Thanks.Drib Drabhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04934482245226373571noreply@blogger.com0