Falcon Punch

Ka-pow.

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.


No, civilians. That is just the "intro" to today's story.

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 just how many people throw litter on the ground.

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.

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.

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, thus far, 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.

This vexes me because it makes me a weakling.

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 tag team) attacked a man in the street.

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 super hero 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).

The fight ended and I actually managed to restrain a bigger man than me, telling him to "cool it."

What an amazing thing to shout into a stranger's face. "Cool it, bro...not on my watch."

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?

Whatever it means, I’m now known as The Zezauriator.

Please use the bins provided.

A Zezaurian guide to making a crap birthday present slightly less crap

My 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 Expert Guide to Falling Asleep During Any Film. I scoured the internet for weeks 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.

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.

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 porn 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.

Using his dorky GPS gizmo, off he goes. Puff puff, pant pant.

That’s it Steve. You’re welcome. What’s that? You wanted to spend your afternoon watching the DVD Box Set of The Pacific – the one thoughtful gift someone got you after working out what you’d actually like for your birthday? Ooops. 

I should’ve filled it with IOUs. Man, that would've been way more hilarious. Happy Birthday, you old fart dearest father.

Love from Drib Drab. xxx

It's the bottom one.

Anal itching -- A rough guide

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 natural reaction, but this damages the skin further – what we in the business call the  "itch/scratch cycle".

Causes of anal itching

Washing too much...or not enough! 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!

 

Leakage of faeces can lead to itching around the anus. This is made worse after tangy, vegan food.

Ointments and creams 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.

 

Skin conditions, 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?

 

Fungal infections, 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.

 

Sexually transmitted infections are what many people worry about, but are not usually the reason.

• Bum warts, caused by papillomavirus, thrive in warm, moist conditions such as the skin near the anus and can be very itchy.
• Herpes can also infect the anus if someone has rimmed you with a disgusting cold-sore.

Bumworms 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!

 

Pleasure. 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.

Zezaurian Award For The Worst Thing Said In 2010

I'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 Award for the Worst Thing Said In 2010.

That title is going to 'Bill40' commenting over at Comment is Free at the Guardian in a discussion about the hackers targeting Mastercard et al.

Click on the image to read the entire, sorry mess -- and I think this can only be read in the voice of Alan Partridge:

My Cringe Gland is has inflamed to the size of the fucking moon.

Dedicated, or just another victim of bullying?

Long time Zezaurian, Hercules Beefcake, (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.

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".

Click for full-size proof of this man's stupidity

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.

DD.

I did a bad thing (again)

Hello, reader (and that’s definitely "reader" in the singular),

It's been a while. Partly because I have shunned technology to spend time exploring the soggy delights of a woman 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 everything. 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.

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.

Anyways. The Lake District.

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).

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).

Twin Peaks

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.

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.

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.

Within the space of 16 months I have accidentally pissed in my own face twice. I’m thirty years old.

On the upside my mother did all my washing.

DD.