Special report: Mexico

...And by "special" I mean "special", like a spaz. As in; "spedchialll."

Spedchialll dog eye

Just look at that fucking eyeball. This picture was taken in my beachside kitchen and the malignant blob actually leaked on the floor as I was eating dinner. I have not eaten anything made with plum tomatoes since.

 

Quite impressed Picasa's anti-red eye function picked this up though.

Spedchialll words

I found this in the local paper beneath a picture of a girl sunbathing with her top off. I don't think the girl had any idea that the "bi-lingual" editor had commissioned this discreet photoshoot. Still, I felt like I learned a thing or two after reading that.

Spedchialll bum wipes

I think the cleaner was hankering for a tip. Quite impressive really. Not as impressive as what the bogs in Mexico do with your turds though. It's strange, I think how a society deals with its poos tells you something about its people. For instance, here, in England we have quite small toilet bowls with very little water at the bottom. This means a) your poo only shows its head with its long body half-way round the U-bend and b) after you've done your poo, wiped your anus and covered the brown mess with toilet paper you can't even see the turd. THIS IS BAD. It means we, the English people, are ashamed of being human.

It's very different in Mexico though. These people are PROUD of their turds.

Firstly, they have so much water in the bowl of the toilet that you practically dip your balls in it when you sit down. And, as you are not allowed to put toilet paper in the bowl, when you stand up to flush you are confronted with a huge brown coil of shit languishing up at the brim, like "Hi ya! It's Meeeeee! Timothy Turd!"

The best part is when you flush though. At first the water doesn't really do anything, as if the poo is just getting ready for its big song and dance exit. Then it starts to slowly spin around, gently gaining momentum and after a short while you're actually hypnotised by its sensual water dance. Then Glusghghhg! It's gone. Just like that it gets sucked away at supersonic speeds. It's like the curtain suddenly falling on the most thrilling show on earth, leaving you breathless with wonder.

That is how you should say good-bye to a shit.

Hello 2010

"2010 is going to be my year," is what my very charming and excellent friend "John" told me last week. "I'm going to take the bull by the gonads and milk its prostate dry. Yes, fuck-nudger; it's the year of my success."

That's the spirit, "John".

And, after securing a promotion at work (and getting rid of that weird lump) he certainly took to milking the bull's innards; "Hey," he told me, "Do you remember that chick, Paola? From Camden? Like, forever ago?" I didn't actually remember a girl called Paola from like forever ago, but on he rambled: "Well, over a year ago I met her in some bar, pulled her, got her number and promised her I would call her and take her out for a good time."

The Big Point he eventually got to was that he never called her up because before he could he went and met somebody else and embarked on a quest for Love with her instead. That lasted for quite a while, but, like most young love, sadly ended. So, skip to last week and "John" is now telling me that he finally text this Paola girl back - more than a year later. I scoffed at this move of painful desperation but was shown two fingers and told that he had actually secured a date. The silly bitch had actually agreed to meet him. She must have really liked him.

Anyways, I wished him luck, ensured he'd remembered to wash behind his ball sack and off he went on his Hot Date.

This is the email I got from him the next day: 

Well, the lovely miss Paola stood me up. I have to take my rug off to her though, it was pretty funny. I'm standing at Camden station at half seven (the arranged time) and no sign of her. Perfectly natural to be a few minutes late so no panic. I wait for another 45 minutes and she still doesn't show so I'm feeling like a twat. Try calling, no answer. Text her to see what's happening…a few minutes later 'Oh.. you meant THIS year. I thought you wanted to meet next year, sorry! I'm busy this year.' 

Witty bitch.

Leave me alone!

I don't know what my neighbour here thinks she's doing, but whatever it is, IT'S NOT WORKING.

Things we did in 2009

So, the year is almost over and I'm off to Mexico for a month. There's you not getting pissed on shitty Tesco own brand lager that your step dad hid in the garage, whilst I'm out adventuring in some Mayan ruin with my Zezaurian cap soaking up the heat. Hard luck.

But don't fret - I've left you with a bunch of really, really bad pictures of people you probably don't know doing things you don't care about. Behold! Our year in shitty pictures:

Watch the skies

Hello doinks. If you are familiar with some of our Zezaurian theories, you will be aware that all of the emotional turmoil in the universe is caused by an evil cosmic eagle that stalks the skies in search of feeble minded morons such as myself to torment and cause untold misery. I have explained this theory to many of my friends, colleagues and just about anyone else who will listen but my wisdom invariably falls on deaf ears.

Well, now I have proof. My good friend Professor Peelhead who is currently seeking his fortune in China stumbled upon the sadistic bastard while out metal detecting, and managed to get this amazing shot of a guy who was blubbering because his boyfriend dumped him or something. Now I have irrefutable evidence that my theory is correct, I shall wait eagerly for those Nobel prize bozos to get in touch. So long, rat race!

Peace and quiet, please.

For fuck's sake! every evening when I get home from a hard day of toil, anticipating a relaxing night with a couple of episodes of the X-Files, I'm faced with these idiots slouched all over my bed like dead bumblebees. I don't how they get into my flat, but I'm really sick of it. What's a man got to do to get a bit of peace?