Listen-up, kraken lovers! I have news that may make some of you tear at your breasts and wail at the moon: I’m disappearing for a few weeks. I know, I know, calm yourselves. You see, not only am I taking a half-term break (otherwise known as the same old fucking shouting about teeth cleaning but in a sunnier country) but upon my return I’ll be back in hospital to have my face/ rage rearranged. The upshit (or should that be upshot?) is that I’ll be away from my blog until at least mid November.
For those of you who are interested here are the details of said surgical intrusion. For those of you who are not you can skip this paragraph: You know I have Bells Palsy, right? That means one side of my face is paralysed. So the latest surgery will involve removing muscle from my chest and inserting into the paralysed side of my chops to eventually make my entire phizzog more symmetrical. It’ll all link up to the nerve graft I had back in May and, hopefully, in six months’ time I’ll be back on the cover of Hot Kraken Babes. No really. I have my slot booked, as it were.
Anyway, in my absence feel free to rummage about on the site. The tabs are all up there at the top and every post is guaranteed to enrage/ distress/ reassure/ teach you new terms of sweary abuse. My latest favourite is ‘conurbation of fuck’ but there have been many others in recent months. Oh, and you have your own arse in your hand tell the world about it on the Your Turn page.
Thanks for reading, thanks for raging and I’ll see you on the other side.
Please forgive my direct opening line but what in the conurbation of fuck is wrong with you? I only ask because, somehow, in the run up to Halloween you’ve managed to fall in a bathroom and crack your head on a sink, losing the part of your collective consciousness that regulates tact, sensitivity and the ability to stop yourself looking like Jim Davidson.
You see, in recent weeks I’ve seen so many piss-takes of one of the most vulnerable groups in modern society that I’ve had to check my meds in case the problem lies in my brain and not yours. There’s been the ‘mental patient’ costume sold in Asda, Tesco and Amazon, The Asylum ‘experience’ in Thorpe Park and The Sun’s headline about murderous ‘mental patients’. And now Amazon has been forced to withdraw from sale a Halloween costume celebrating the nation’s most prolific child sex abuser, Jimmy Saville. Yet for all the outrage at these festive aberrations, there’s always someone who’ll claim that they are ‘just for fun’.
OK, so at the risk of sounding like the kind of person who thinks that the Daily Mail is a newspaper, I am currently in the throes of a sphincter-shrinking fit over my local council. That’s Rhondda Cynon Taf County Borough Council if you want a) specifics and b) to try your hand at pronouncing the Welsh language. You see, that’s because in the last few weeks said council has decreed that our county borough must suffer the sort of financial cuts that would have made even Jean Paul Getty Sr bring up his dinner. So why don’t said cuts apply to its quarterly propaganda rag Outlook then?
You see, it was recently reported that RCTCBC (to spare you re-pronouncing it) has to save £56 million over the next four years, much like many other councils across the UK. Here, that is being done through proposals to close fourteen of its twenty six libraries, ten of its nineteen day centres, reducing meals-on-wheels for those who rely on them and even making current nursery-age children start school later than they usually would in this area. Fact is that we in Wales used to go to museums to see how people lived in 1913. Now we just have to walk down the bloody High Street.
Yet at no point has mention been made of abandoning Outlook, what RCTCBC delusionally calls a ‘newsletter’. Although it’s not a newsletter at all because really it’s page after page of internally-generated gloatage about why the council’s farts smell of roses. It’s as if someone had stuffed ‘arrogance’ into a test tube and distilled it, turning it into an ink made solely from the smugness of local councillors, smearing it on paper and shoving it through our letterboxes.
Dear Thorpe Park
Oooh did I scare you then? No? Well I should have because I am, after all, a bug-eyed mental patient straight out of your new scare-the-shit-out-of-customers “experience” The Asylum. That’s right, The Asylum, that corner of your overpriced theme park that you’ve dedicated to Halloween 2013 by transforming it into a psychiatric hospital that’s been over-run with mentally disturbed, blood- stained, wild-faced, screeching, axe-flinging patients.
Forgive me for using such crude language as ‘mental patient’ and ‘maniacs’ but I thought it best to start in a way that you would understand. I mean, you’re clearly not up to date with how we treat people with mental health issues in the 21st Century are you? Perhaps you’ve never heard such phrases as ‘mental ill health’ or ‘psychiatric care’ because you are so busy assuming that anyone who suffers from the likes depression, bipolar disorder or schizophrenia are still treated by being left to chew on their own toes in padded cells. Or perhaps it’s because you’ve flogged so much candy floss over the years that you have it stuck in your fucking eyes.
Right, before I start I need to warn you that today’s post will almost certainly lose me friends, family and followers. In fact, by the time you get to the last line I might be found abandoned, beaten and upside down in wheely bin. And yeah, I could just keep my gob shut but the filtering part of my brain has broken so that’s not an option, much like my ability to contain my own noxious toots. So, then, are you ready to hate me? Good, because I herewith announce that I utterly fucking despise the little missives and hearts doing the rounds of female Facebook users all in the name of cancer research.
You see, I’ve received several messages from much-loved female friends asking me to pass on to other friends a heart icon. Apparently this is a secret message for women only that tells other women I support cancer charities. Fuck knows how it supports cancer research or why it has to be a secret from men but there you go. Problem is that it’s not the only adult version of a chain-letter that’s infecting Facebook. There are also entire waves of women pinging each other the answers to such questions as “What colour bra are you wearing?” and previously “Where do you keep your handbag?” all “in aid of cancer” whatever that insensible string of words means.