Happy New Year

Hello, Happy New Year to you.

Optimism is as valid a response as any other to a universe that is unpredictable, uncontrollable and chaotic. There is no meaning or logic to what happens to us in life, we can't control the forces that shape our lives. Once a person resigns themselves to their fate, it's the beginning of maturity and self acceptance. To struggle against a universe that is indifferent to our happiness is undignified, ludicrous and pointless.

Therefore "Prepare for the worst, hope for the best" is the closest thing to a sane response to an insane, meaningless world I've managed to come up with.

So to conclude as I began, optimism is as reasonable as anything in a world where we are the sport of forces beyond our control. I therefore wish you all (except for arseholes, go fuck yourselves, may you die and be damned) the best of the New Year ahead.

I tried, but the dog farted, and that was that

Comrades, I don't want to post anything, I'm really uptight and not in the mood. So I'm going to do one of those "Oh what the fuck can I possibly write about" posts. If I were you, I'd save myself some boredom and leave now, but it you want to hang around for the train wreck, be my guest. I'm a little behind in my planned posts, but those ones are going to have to wait till I can do them justice. It's after all not nice to write garbage about reasonable subjects, correct?

Oh for Christ's sake the fat fucking dog just farted...him...the basenji, with his big fat arse in my direction. Thanks Man's Best Friend... Look, that's just fucked, I don't even want to be here and the fucking dog farts. I'm off, this is just fucking untenable. Fucking mutt.

Merry Christmas

Season's Greetings to all.

I hope this Christmas brings peace and love to those desiring these things. I think as long as you have shelter, food, peace and physical comfort, you have everything you require to get on with life somehow.

It's to those animals and people who have none of these, that my thoughts are turned daily, and especially tonight.
Regardless of whether one subscribes to the Christian faith, the story of a family fleeing persecution and violence, and finding peace and renewal in a humble barn amongst animals is one that still has resonance today, and will I'm certain, have real meaning for all time.

Take Care and Love

From your friend,

Sir Fudge Esq

Lolly Cats : What is a Lolly Cat?

One of the subjects I often find myself discussing on twitter are the Lolly Cats. I'm often asked by many to explain, if I can, what a Lolly Cat is. I made the term up, so no one but me can explain it. If anyone else tries to tell you what a Lolly Cat is, don't listen to them, they are just full of shit.

Here are some Characteristics of Lolly Cats:

1. Their Mommys, Mummys, Mammys are the centres of their world. This is why Lolly Cats are often single, which leads me to my next point:

2. Lolly Cats do not fornicate. If they are male, they may harbour homosexual fantasies (not that there's anything wrong with that) brought about by their strong mother figure attachment, but they will never act upon these closet preoccupations, which neatly leads me to the following Lolly Cat characteristic:

3. They are often at pains to emphasize their masculinity in suspiciously shrill ways: the latest fad is the so called "ManCat" cave (which tellingly, often has "dangly bits" in it...Oh dear God...)

4. Lolly Cats like to eat. They especially like to bake and eat cake. I know one, who became so incensed by a female cat's attentions, he smothered her with cake. Anyway, I digress, the point is, Lolly Cats like to eat and this leads me inevitably to their next characteristic:

5. Lolly Cats are often rotund, heavy bellied, round, jug shaped, etc. In a word: Fucking Chunkers

6. Most Lolly Cats have small ears. I know one that has very large ears, but he is just a freak of nature. So I ignore them.

7. Lolly cats are very sensitive. They are also very palsy. They love to pal around. They love to hug, which is why most of them don't really like me. I frustrate their inverted homosexual tendencies by not letting them hug me.

8. While these Lollies usually coast along through life with blissed out naivety, they can and do get right ornery. It's just the funniest sight.

9. They play with tissues.

10. They don't do drugs.

11. Cynicism appalls them.

The funny thing is, two of my best friends are Lolly Cats. I have a Lolly Cats list, if anyone would like to nominate themselves for this list, please let me know, there is (would you believe) a vetting process, not just anyone can join.

There is a Lolly Cat Society, you may visit them and eat icing buttons, cupcakes and drink pink lemonade, but you may NOT swear, shoot up, bring a partner of either gender, drink till you're pissed or beat anyone up. Apply to:

The Lolly Cats

10 Love Dumpling Lane

McHappyLand

XOXO <3

PS: NB: Lolly Cats are NO way synonymous with Puritan fuckers ( puerile, vicious beasts everyone loathes). Lolly Cats are really rather nice, they don't mind if you you're a social misfit. They are like the Salvation Army really, they really, really want to HELP you.

Christmas Presents

Hello guys, I suppose I should do something vaguely Jingle Bells so that I don't look like a complete social misfit. I'm going to concede in advance that I won't carry this off too well. I'd really rather discuss the fascinating twitter conversations I've been having lately as to whether ear size correlates to penis size. If you look at my ears, it's an argument that serves me quite well, therefore, I argue for the affirmative. I have a dog friend with floppy ears, I feel a mixture of pity and delicious schadenfreude for him.

But this has nothing to do with presents. Ok, I'm very easy to buy for. I have distinct interests and tastes. My favourite things are: Radiohead, Robots, Rosary Beads, Russian Roulette Wheels, Reading, Vodka and drugs. Simple. Easy.

Naturally, I never get any of them, instead I get revolting little figurines of Shakespeare (why for God's sake?), bizarre looking ugly stuffed animals that resemble nothing I've ever seen and bottles of Baileys. I don't want any of this shit. Last year, my Cunta Kinta got me (I'm not kidding) a complete set of Beatrice Potter's fucking animal stories with, Oh dear God... little musical buttons on it... Not to be outdone, my sister (she with the suicidal husband) got me (and I can barely believe this happened) a goddamn bead making thing, I'm supposed to make a fucking dragonfly out of it. The instructions with this cheap arsed shit from China were barely coherent. But what was clear, was the advice on the packing that it was intended "For ages 5 and up" I gave it back to her last Christmas, with a smile.

The worst present I ever got was a hot water bottle. Not in a nice shape,no fancy fabric patterns, (cos that would have made all the difference) just a fucking ugly blue rubber hot water bottle. Everyone in my family knows I hate those things. I would rather throw myself in the pits of Hell than use one, if you want the truth, I find hot water bottles creepy, they're like hugs, everyone else likes 'em, but I find them sinister. Shocked, I rather impolitely burst forth with "What kind of a fucking retarded Christmas present is this?, You got me a fucking hot water bottle?! are you insane??!!"... Naturally, I've since been considered difficult to buy presents for, as well as rather rude and ungrateful.

The present exchange that made me laugh and laugh till my sides hurt occurred between my weirdo Onkel Alex and his niece. Unky Alex is the stingiest man you will ever meet. He gets women to buy him dinner, drinks, etc which they do as he's very handsome, then he dumps them without mercy. He gets family members to tell them either A: he no longer lives here as of yesterday B: he's died C: Go away.

Anyway, one year Alex bought his niece a stupid little troll head that fits on top of a pencil. It cost him, 99 cents US. As he was wrapping it (yes, he really wrapped it) he broke it,but he gave it to her anyway.

The next Christmas, the niece bought him a a thumb wrestling kit. When I saw it, I couldn't stop laughing, it took me 15 minutes to even straighten up. If someone buys you a thumb wrestling kit, they're telling you: you have absolutely nothing worthwhile to do with your time and your life is completely pointless.

Just for the record, a thumb wrestling kit is a small piece of plastic with two holes. One puts one's thumbs through these holes and it's on for young and old.


Well I'm going to conclude now as thankfully the weed is taking over my faculties. But if anyone wants a blue rubber hot water bottle for Christmas, the lucky first to email me gets it.

My unique take on terminology

Hello, I had a horrible cutting rant prepared about attention whores who impose themselves upon the grieving of others in order to promote themselves, but there's been so much hard stuff here lately that I'm going to leave it for now, as you'll see, I've written something much nicer.

I thought instead I would spend some time looking at good old standbys of twitter vernacular. I have no idea what half of them mean, so I thought I would share my ignorance with you. You're beaming with gratitude I'm sure.

I'm a little high, so while I'm going to try to put these in alphabetical order, and be reasonably coherent, I can make no promises.

Hugz!: Oh dear God, this is just the very end of all civilization for me. I can't help what I'm about to say, God help me, but people who hug a lot strike me as promiscuous and kind of fucking sleazy. Ok, Ok! I'm sorry! I accept I'm missing the gene for physical affection and am therefore psychiatrically defective Ok? I'm not saying people who hug a lot are sleazy, I'm saying they appear sleazy to me, and considering my maturation process was obviously severely compromised, you should pay no attention to my drivel. It's me, not you.

LOFL/MOL/LOL/ROFL/LMAO etc etc: None of these are dignified. I used to know someone, (thank the God of Block I'm rid of him) who would say something nasty and then add BOL! I hate all these little laughy things now. This is another instance where it's me, not you. I just don't like them.

Nosetaps: I think these are meant to be nice. But they just piss me off, they come across as bitchy and patronizing for some reason. If I ever use nose taps on you, I'm actually saying : "fuck you!! :)" I just don't like them. And if someone is a bit pissy with me, and then puts "nosetaps! :)" at the end of their little turn - I block 'em.

Pawcircles: Attention seeking voodoo. Revolting displays of irrational bullshit. Whatever happened to the Enlightenment? One of the greatest, most liberating movements in Western History just gets fucked every which way by this incomprehensible, obscurantist voodoo crap. Every time I see one I want to say, "Did I just somehow fall into a parallel universe where otherwise perfectly rational attention whores (God I'm being nice today) become fucking witch doctors?" to me, they are at once the conjurers and the intellectual captives of their magical circles of superstition.

Rainbow Bridge: Too sickeningly kitsch for words. I would rather fellate Satan for eternity than ever have it said of me "Oh, Sir Fudge, (pawcircle!!) he's over rainbow bridge now, in heaven (hugz!!) with all his little friends, playing with his plague ratsie. BOL!!" Like hell I fucking am, I'm in the Great Beyond laughing/retching till my sides ache at the Fucking Great Morbid Guru of Death who thinks he's ferrying poor hapless cats and dogs to their final destination. Fuck that moronic kitsch sentimental crap.

Softpaw: One of my favourite tweeps here uses this lovely gesture, she is always sincere.


I'll continue with this wonderful and enlightening lexicon, but I think this suffices for now.

The final observation I want to make is: the more sincerely something is being expressed, the less it resorts to the hollow, sham sentiment of kitsch cliches. If I want to convey sympathy, understanding and empathy, I'll use real, meaningful words I've put some sincere thought into, not some fucking meaningless pre manufactured shorthand drivel. Let me give you an example of how revoltingly insincere this sounds:

Pawcircle for (insert name of tweep) who passed over to the Rainbow Bridge today. His mom (insert name if known) needs hugz. He's playing with all his little friends (insert names of any tweeps who have died, whether they knew or even liked each other is immaterial). Now let's have a party! nosetaps! BOL!!

Cancer

Hello, I'm sorry to be such a bore and post about illness, but I promise you, after I explain what I really feel I want to and need to, I won't raise the subject again, after all, it bores me too.

In some ways, this post is a continuation of the last one, I have to explain things for much the same reasons as I did in the last post. I'd rather explain things from my perspective and be done with it for once and for all, than have a certain tweep act as though he is the source of all knowledge about me, or as a friend of mine put it "the intercessor of all mankind".

1. Over 5 years ago I was diagnosed with invasive ductal cancer stage II, the invasive refers to the fact it had already spread from it's original tumour site and broken through the duct wall. I sought a 2nd opinion which confirmed the 1st.

2. The surgeon said to me: " you're the youngest person I've ever seen with this, and I have to warn you, the demographics are against you. The younger you are, it just spreads, with surgery, aggressive chemotherapy and radiation treatment, we would be prepared to maybe guarantee you 5 years". The chemotherapy was going to last for 6 months, for 15 minutes a day, 6 days a week. I'd rather be dead, and I figured (correctly as it turns out) I probably have 5 years anyway. So I declined treatment. Had the tumour not have spread from it's original site, I may have consented to surgery, but as it had already spread, it just seemed pointless and the thought of having lymph glands removed nauseated me.

3. I've always been profoundly opposed to using animals in research and I always knew that if something like this ever happened, I would decline treatment. Also, at the time, I was working as a house model (modelling clothes for fashion buyers) while I was at university, It was a great job, I really loved it. It's a job which requires a good standard of grooming and appearance, and of course, it made treatment impossible as I didn't want to leave it, especially not for a very uncertain outcome. In any event, I had to quit as the tumour became visible and the area around it increasingly disfigured. As a house model, you're required to model both winter wear as well a summer wear/beach wear, and after 3 years, there was no hiding it anymore.

4. So that's essentially it, people can live with cancer for a long time with no obvious adverse effects. I seem to be doing ok. I get some pain here and there but nothing major, I know the time will come when the faint ache in my rib bones will become something worse and I know that any time the tumour can break off and flow in the blood stream and attach itself elsewhere to continue it's parasitic work, (so dr's have told me anyhow) But you know it's been over 5 years now and it's not so bad. As I always say, we are all going to die of something, and having cancer probably appeals to my fatalistic nature.

5. And the thing that makes me laugh to myself? I received the phone call from the diagnostic clinic on April 1st. Yep. April Fool's Day. I'm really glad it happened like that, it reminds me that it's ridiculous to take one's fate too seriously.

6. As a 'set and forget' type person, I hardly think about the cancer at all. I don't bother having it's progress tracked, I couldn't care less what it does or where it goes, like I said, we are all going to die of something, may as well enjoy what we have. I never revealed this except to a very very few others. But unfortunately, one of those few was an untrustworthy, mendacious, vicious character, so I find myself in the position where I have to openly explain personal and complicated things to preempt the lies and half truths he has been spreading.

7. I'm really not distressed about the illness in any way. I'm very very pissed off it ruined a lot of things, more than just my job, but pissed off isn't sad or miserable. I'm really neither. If anything, kind of perversely, it's given me a sense of freedom that's hard to describe, like I already have one foot in the next world so why should I care too much about pointless things? They're all just deck chairs on the Titanic.

8. Finally, I don't want to imply criticism toward those who accept treatment in spite of the suffering for animals entailed by testing cancer treatment, I understand that in terms of main stream medicine you have no alternatives.

9. I've made arrangements for my 2 dogs, 3 cats should this illness end my life before theirs. So I think all up, I've handled it with my usual mix of pissed offedness and awareness of responsibility.

10. This post has I been, I know, a dreadful bore, I do apologize. At least the OD was kind of sensational and quirky in it's own way, and in it's own unique sick way, it was kind of fun. Cancer is just so fucking lame.

PS: And no, I won't be requiring hugs or paw circles, thank you. I think you pretty much know what I'm going to suggest you do with your irrational voodoo games... not that there's anything wrong with it....

*nosetaps* !! :)

How it Feels to be the Target of Gossip

I had another post planned, something much nicer, but unfortunately, last night a very strange tweep began what I suppose in his disordered mind amounted to a "campaign" against me.

His campaign amounted to sending DMs to others which made the following claims about me:

1. I am a pathological liar (because I don't reveal location on social media, so I guess, that makes EVERYONE who doesn't reveal location details a pathological liar)

2. I blocked him.

3. I laugh at dying and dead anipals.

4. I (the person behind this avatar) has cancer and is consequently suicidal.


The first claim is simply arrant nonsense. Because I wish to protect my privacy (and why wouldn't I? I openly admit to drug use after all) doesn't make me a pathological liar. But this claim is perfectly coterminous with the nature of this tweep. He is a control freak who until I removed him from my account and locked it, would read my tweets everyday like the obsessed freak he became. The point I wish to make is that this person is a control freak who regards me as a pathological liar because I refuse to share personal information with him.
Two tweeps here know my address. I trust and love these people. They would never betray me.

The second claim is also nonsense, it's the cry of an immature personality. I removed this person from follows, unfollowed him, and then locked my account. He found this out because as was his custom, he tried to read my tweets before coming on line and found he couldn't. To add more fuel to his attention seeking efforts, he claims I blocked him. He is not blocked, although, if I stay on at twitter, he will be.

The third claim is simply the spiteful bullshit of a disturbed personality. I don't, it's true engage in public acts of sentiment, I prefer instead to send private Direct Messages of condolence. Some months ago we lost our beloved cat Thomas in very distressing circumstances. I know how it feels and it really hurts. If anyone would like to read my post "Charities, Pick Your Victim" and also ask @ConfuciusCat for a link to the article I wrote about the plight of Spanish Greyhounds on his blog, you can see for yourself how much I like to laugh about the suffering of animals. The only conclusion possible is that the tweep who said this is malicious and deeply disturbed.

The fourth claim, is unfortunately partially true. The person behind this avatar is young, (in her 2o's) and has cancer. But the other sick claim this tweep made, that her cancer has made her suicidal, is simply not true. This strange and unpleasant tweep in his/her sick mind, has linked the accidental overdose with the illness in order to give himself an air of 'in the know' importance when it happened. The person behind my AV was emailed these distressing DMs, just for the record, she considers we are all going to die of something, there's no need to get hysterical about having cancer, suicide in her situation is completely redundant. But thanks for the thought you lowlife areshole.

I believe that this heartless, poisonous tweep has been telling people that I'm a pathological liar because he found out that I knew he'd been telling others what I told him in the strictest, most trusting confidence, and he wanted to discredit me if I told anyone how he betrayed my trust. If anyone requires proof I have this affliction, please email me and I'll provide you with the details. Why not? I'd rather you hear it from me than this disgusting creature.

How did this all come about? It's hard to say. I think I used to give this tweep the attention he desperately and pathologically craves, however, I began to realise that his jokes increasingly came at my expense. A few people DMd me asking how I put up with it, I generally ignored them I suppose. As I began to accumulate a lot friends he started with the "people say all kinds of nasty things about you, and you bring it all on yourself." I believe he became insanely jealous of my close friendship with a particular cat. (He would obsessively follow ANYONE he saw me speaking to) The final straw was his betrayal of my trust. We're not talking about what position I like best, we're talking about life and death matters.

Back in the days when I believed this tweep was my trusted friend, we spent a long time exchanging confidences, I've never once divulged one of his, I never will, I'm far too upmarket for that kind of trash.

What else can I add? Nothing really. Take my advice, trust no one. No matter how badly you may want to tell someone something, tell it to your cat instead.

With the exception of a handful of people, I will never tell anyone in cyber space anything I wouldn't want repeated ever again. I was foolish I know, to do so in the first place.

And just for the record my favourite food is Salzburger Knockel, or is it chip butties, or maybe Skandinavian Kringle, maybe even Siberian Gulag kvass? Anyone who absolutely desperately needs to know? I don't fucking think so...

PS: One of the my friends who passed this information on to me told me that some of the more "gullible ones" were very upset by my 'laughing at dead and dying anipals, animals' and were now "terrified" of me. Well, call me unimaginative, but logically that doesn't even make fucking sense. Someone who clearly has a grudge sidles up to your DM box spinning spiteful shit and you just believe them? Just like that? I sincerely hope that if you believe this egregious garbage you are no longer following me? Cos personally, if you really have such a low opinion of me, I'd rather you just go, just get fucked off my timeline.

It's a Post About Nothing!

Hey guys, I'm so very sorry I've been lax with posting, I'm just so bone achingly tired. That's what happens I guess if you pump yourself full of heroin for 2 weeks, try to withdraw and then overdose, and then have to stay off it. I know , I know, pure fucking genius on my part.

I don't for a moment feel sorry for myself, but I have to admit, I'm so unbearably tired I actually feel overwrought. This is all no good.

I was saying to a sweet and beloved twitter friend a week or so ago, "Moderation is like a boring old hausfrau, you resent her presence at the time, but deeply regret her absence later" Oh, how I wish I'd hadn't have ignored the old bitch...

See you soon

PS Just for the hell of it, the other day someone told me i had a reputation for blocking people. That's ok, I want to make my blocking criteria clear so there are no misunderstandings:

1. Criticize Radiohead = instant dismissal, you will never come back. Ever.

2.Criticize anything I say. Please, take it as gospel, you are just a fucking idiot, go stick your nauseating, unctuous hypocrisy up your arse . I just don't fucking care. Got me? Bye Bye... :)

3. Racist Remarks. Look we all know people like this are just dickheads. Someone said something about Arabs the other day...bye bye racist moron.

Otherwise, we'll get along just fine.

Friday

Hello Dear Reader

I'm late again, but that's par for the course with me. I'm also stoned again. And that's par for the course too. I'm actually stoned as I'm typing this so you are getting an insight into the mind of a stoned retard. A doubtful privilege I admit, but I'm fantasizing in my stoned state that you're grateful all the same, if not indulging in a bit of schadenfreude at my expense, which makes me happy, so no need to hypocritically deny delicious, secret guilt if you are.

You may feel (correctly I'll concede) that I've divulged rather a lot about myself this week, well I've learned a few things about you too vis a vis the "Every Day I:" poll I ran.

Unfortunately, I allowed you vote for as many categories as you pleased, I'm not letting that ever fucking happen again. The blog thing didn't reckon up your responses into meaningful percentages, I've somehow got to work it out for myself. Well fuck that. I'm too stoned.

So what's going to happen is, you're simply going to have to trust me not to misrepresent you. Aren't you? Well, if you do feel misrepresented, and you're one of those "speculative thinkers" referred to in my OD post, you'll just have to concede karma. Won't you?

Ok, here it is. An equal majority of you geniuses drank yourselves to death on vodka everyday as worried about whether your farts made global warming worse. (oh hang on! it's not global warming anymore, it's "climate change" the phrase that papers over the embarrassing incidence of climate behaviour which contradicts the global warming hypothesis )...

Anyway, an insignificantly smaller number of you worried that the government was going to get jack shit of you sitting on your unemployed arse and make you look for work.

The group who confessed yourselves to be WASPS who tried to pathetically boost spirits by saying affirmations every morning before departing for soul destroying jobs were the fewest in number.

Can anything be usefully concluded from this? Yes, I think so. It would appear that a minority of poor bastards go off to their hated jobs every day to support a bunch of unemployed, drunken, do gooder flatulent, parasitic greenies .

You poor dudes. My heart goes out to you. Stand up for yourself. Tell your boss to go fuck himself, tell the society which exploits you to fuck itself, tell your bank manager to fuck himself.

Then go have yourself a nice weekend.

Cheers and Love,

From your Friend,

Sir Fudge Esq

Animal Charities: Pick Your Victim

Hello, hope all is well with you, I'd describe it as pretty reasonable for me.
I'm a little sick of self revelations that do my reputation no good at all. I have quite a few twitter related things I want to complain about, but they can wait.

Instead of these good old stand bys, I want to use this space to discuss one of my other preoccupations. It's my blog, I can do what I want with it after all.

Before I go any further, I want to let you know, that this post is likely to distress anyone who genuinely cares about the suffering of other sentient beings. It isn't nice, but then, things worth speaking about rarely are. It's the nature of the world. The ugly stuff forces us to take notice. The cute stuff is well, "cotton candy", looks good, tastes cloying, ultimately though, it's nutritionally empty. In other words, a total fucking waste of time except for the 'feel good' factor, which is, I concede, worth something, sometimes...

Are you familiar with Pondencos? Galgos? Spanish Greyhounds? They are all members of the greyhound family. In Spain, these physically beautiful, and temperamentally gentle, sensitive dogs are used for hunting. At the end of each hunting season, a number are hung from trees with wire. The better hunters are hung higher up so they die faster than the unfortunate ones who are hung in such a way as to allow their feet to maintain contact with the ground in order to prolong their suffering

The conditions these dogs are kept in are usually inhumane, no sunlight, overcrowding, or left out in burning Spanish sun all day, no shade, no proper food, no comfort, just abandoned. Nothing.

Often, when they are no longer useful in any way they are tortured to death or simply left to starve . One apparently fun way, popular with some sub humans, is to insert a stick in the greyhound's mouth, keeping it open, so that eating and drinking are impossible, obviously, if not found, the dog suffers slowly and painfully, till he or she dies.

I think the saddest, most heartbreaking thing I have ever seen is a picture of a very young female podenco in a Spanish killing station (it's the photo up top). Her ears and tail had been cut off. Animals have endured worse cruelty than this, but the look in that dog's eyes haunts me. It's unbearable. Sadly, that young girl, although removed from the "shelter" by a German rescue agency, had to be euthanased. The man who had 'owned ' her had so tortured her body and destroyed her mind, life was just a never ending story of fear and sadness for her.

I don't wish to imply that the Spanish are exceptionally cruel. They are not. When we got our ex racer, she was in a lamentable state, and she was straight out of mainstream wealthy Anglo society.
She was really in a shit state. Her mind is still affected. Five years later, she remains afraid and untrusting of anyone except for us, her immediate family, even so, even within her own home, fear remains her default emotion if anything out of the ordinary happens. I don't know what happened to her, but at a minimum, I suspect she was very roughly handled, and I would guess not shown much, if any affection.

When she came to us, she was so hungry she tried to eat stones while the uncaring bitch from the adoption agency told us that the dog's state was normal and par for the course. We wanted to say: "The dog is starving and underweight, she has no fucking fur on her bottom presumably due to general ill health and stress, she howls if someone touches her...this is OK with you?" Some people are just heartless trash. And deep down, they know it.

In Spain though the condition of greyhounds is made worse from the absence of laws regulating the treatment of these gentle, harmless dogs which have traditionally been seen as disposable working animals.

Anyway, these are the animals we try to support, nothing outstanding, just the usual signing of petitions, cash donations and so on.

I've posted pictures which follow, they aren't easy to look at. Take that as a warning. But however awful you may find them, I promise you, I've seen worse, and you will too if you take the time to look into the plight of these achingly beautiful dogs.

I have also included links for you as well. Again you can easily find more information on the WWW.

PETA: People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals

Facebook | Protest the Torture and Murder of Spanish Greyhounds

Galgo News: Meet the Podencos - Ibizan Hounds - with SARA Lanzarote and Pro-Galgo Spain

Scooby Medina shelters hundreds of

Far from Fear

The First Photo is shows a Podenco that had been rescued from Spain and is now living happily in Germany. I wanted to show you this so you could see how astonishingly beautiful these dogs are. You won't see if from the pictures that follow.





These are the heads of Irish greyhounds that were sent to Spain. What actually happened to these poor, harmless dogs doesn't bear thinking about.




This poor boy was kept muzzled and chained to a wall for most of his life.




This is not an unusual fate for a Spanish greyhound at the end of hunting season.



And another one.






A "lucky" one. This dog made it to a caring charity.





Another "lucky one"




Not so lucky I guess.




No words for this.





A very, very lucky, very young Galga now living in a loving home in Germany.

Self Destructiveness vs Egoism

Hello,

I haven't posted much these past few days, I've been rather knocked about by past events. Not surprising. I think though, I should make some kind of entry.

This is probably of minimal interest to most people, but I want to say it anyway: all I want is smack. It's all I want. I don't want alcohol, I don't want weed, I don't want happy pills. I just want smack. It's not that I'm no longer interested in the things I used to be interested in. Those things still exist, they are all now subordinate to the craving for smack.

I prefer to be direct and honest. I'm impatient with meandering airy fairy bullshit. So I shall state things as cleanly as I can. I like danger. I like the thrill of a near miss. One of the reasons I'm a bit uncomfortable with well meant sympathy is I enjoy engaging in behaviour which endangers my life. I feel as though I'm conning people who want to express sympathy, when in fact all the while I crave and enjoy the pain, danger and panic of self destruction.

The pain of withdrawal was indescribably vicious. It took me over completely, just as this craving for smack has. But I still look back with a shiver of thrill that I endured, survived and for that time, my body and mind were completely alive in extremis.

I love the painful ache of desire for smack, I don't ever want it to leave. Once it passes, I'll be bored, empty
and resentful. I know.

This is probably impossible for anyone to understand; it seems it just has to be accepted that we are all wired up in a unique way.

One good thing I suppose, is that I'm not interested in hurting other people. Unless provoked, I never have a go at anyone. Even people who have abused my trust badly, as has recently happened, I'm still friendly...don't care really. If they died tomorrow I couldn't care less, but I have zero interest in hastening them on to their end. I don't have killer mentality I suppose. I've met people who have badly hurt others for doing a lot less than has happened to me, smashed their victims up for life...but me? I don't give that much of a fuck... about anything really.

I have no doubt that upon reading this many people might conclude that this is not a very useful or psychologically healthy way to be. I disagree. There's something to be said, I think, for a bit of welcome neutrality. The personality that isn't constantly in competition with others, that isn't interested in annihilating everyone else around them or establishing dominance.

Frankly, I prefer to spend time with people who are secure enough within themselves to not require the submission of others as an act of self realization. I can't even tell you how much I hate pricks like that.

Self destruction might be a lamentable character flaw in the eyes of many, but I think it's to be preferred, or at least it's easier for others to live with, than the insufferable ego that tries to hurt you in order to establish it's dominance. I hate pricks like that.

This post contains drug references. Here's What Happened.

Hey guys, some of you may know that I was quite ill for a few days. I think there was a bit of talk about all kinds of sordid things and that's ok, speculative thinking is as old as Mankind. It's only natural, and I have no hard feelings one way or the other.

Ok, here's what actually happened: For the past two weeks I've been on a smack binge. I binged and binged. I slept - shot up, slept - shot up. Fortunately, I guess, I slept a lot.

Sadly, all the things we like are no damn good for us, so the love affair (and Oh, God, what a triumph of passion over intellect it was) had to draw to some kind of conclusion sooner rather than later - if I wasn't to spend the rest of my life an even bigger retard.

But it's not so easy to dump the one you love, we all know that. Armed with an assortment of drugs, blankets, buckets, water, ipod, rosary beads (we all have our quirks) I attempted the "DIY Bathroom Rehab". I've done it once before, it was nasty, but I did it, ...sigh, not this time though...the love of my life refused to piss off in spite of all my persuasions.

Anyway, the upshot was, it was hell. I've never experienced pain like it, it was a triumph of pain over every faculty I possess. To give you some idea, because I do want you to realize in order to understand the thing I later did, I'm going to reprint some DMs I sent to someone when the withdrawal process was underway:

"I'm crouched over beside the toilet, freezing my arse off, I can't stop shaking. I'm exhausted. Puking and puking, there's nothing left to bring up, but my body just keeps heaving and retching.

Muscles, bones and joints feel as though they're repeatedly being smashed and re smashed with a sledgehammer, my muscles keep cramping and jumping about, every time more painful than the last...every nerve ending in my body feels as though it's been scraped raw and bloody through a grater...and I'm so cold, I can't stop shaking or retching, every heave feels like it's the one that's going to stop me from breathing..."

So that's what it was like. Oh, and all the while, my head hurt so badly, like a giant pulpy bruise. Well, the things we do to ourselves huh? I know, I know, I was stupid, I overused, I knew I was doing it while I was doing it, and inevitably, I got what I deserved.

Many people use smack all their lives and can function normally with few side effects. The moral to the story is - if one absolutely insists on one- don't play with a loaded guns. I fooled around and got what was coming to me. I'm not looking for sympathy, I did it to myself. I know that.

The pain became unbearable, and I began to panic, so ( yes, this is humiliating) I arranged for someone to bring me more smack. True to form, though perhaps understandably under the circumstances, I fucked it all up, badly.

The upshot was (hah! no pun intended) I bungled it and OD'd... Sigh...the old story...just a cliche...I know I know...

Fortunately, I was found by the friend with whom I'd made arrangements to come over twice a day and take care of things.

Well, there's no more to tell really, the rest is the usual litany of hospital paraphernalia, drips, tubes, dull prescription medication, questions, questions, questions...you know... "Are you suicidal? Did you intend to OD?"

"No, Nurse, no intention. I'm just a retard"

"Have you ever OD'd before?"

"No Ma'am, I'm not that much of a retard" (Nurse rolls eyes, snaps clipboard shut and stalks off muttering something like "fucking junkies.... I spend 4 years in nursing college for this scum"

And so on ad infinitum onward towards abject humiliation and cringing embarrassment...

So, that's what happened.

Questions anyone?

There's something I want to make clear, prior to the two weeks mentioned, I barely ever used, just once for less than a week, and in that case the Do It Yourself Bathroom Rehab worked a treat. I am a recreational user I guess.

I know that labels give a certain type of person the feeling they understand things, so here's one for you, "Sir Fudge Esq is a recreational user who moronically, fucked it up". I don't think there's a question of physical or psychological addiction. It will be quite a number of years before I'm able to face the love of my life again. Get me?

To all those who offered to be my new Cunta Kinta, the short answer is thanks, but no thanks. I have 3 Cuntas I'm very happy with. Mother types are an instant turn off.

To all those condescending cunts who gave me lots of shit and got off on presuming the most sordid stuff while feigning concern: Fuck off.

To anyone who held a bitch fest at my expense: I really don't fucking care, not now, not ever. People like you are just nasty scum.

To all those who sent calm, supportive messages, emails, and DMs expressing sincere, non intrusive friendliness: thank you. I can't really express how much they meant to me, although being intelligent and sensitive, you would know anyway.


And finally, yes, I know I am a Fucking Idiot. That's a given I freely admit to. So if there are to be any comments for this post, maybe demonstrate your intelligence by not stating the fucking obvious?

Too Trashed to Post Properly Means Interview

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In lieu of a decent post, due to my accident, I'm going to publish the first 3 parts of an interview Sam The Poodle sent me to complete a week or so ago.

The questions, as you will see, Dear Reader, are psychological in nature. Sam is clearly interested in the contents of my mind (fuck knows why). If you persevere reading future installments, you'll see that in my usual inimitable style, I was brutally honest in my responses. The result was, the interview makes me look like a depressive, suicidal psychopath. But hey, they were Sam's fucking questions, I noticed not one of them asked me to list my good points, and very few gave me any opportunity to reveal a nicer side to my nature, the bastard. I'd like you Dear Reader, to keep this in mind if you read the entire interview that I'll post over the coming days as I try to recover from my overdose er I mean my "accident" such as it was.

Enjoy!

Sir Fudge Esq

As a brash young upstart,he stretched the limits of Twitter etiquette, in this month’s edition of Vanity Fair he muses on everything from Twitter to his substance abuse issues. As told to Sam The Poodle

1.What is your current state of mind?

My current state of mind can’t be adequately conveyed in words. But I’ll try to at least approximate it for you. It is a state of permanent alarm; my mind is a paranoid entity that resists any attempt at colonisation of its interior. The first thing an intruder into my headspace would see is a sign in red that clearly reads “You are trespassing. You are unwelcome. Fuck Off”
It’s quite simply my own private headspace. No one, not even God may enter.

2. Which living person do you most admire?

To be quite honest with you, my misanthropy precludes me from unconditionally admiring anyone. I can’t really provide any loving gush for you. I do in an oblique way, admire my Cunta Kinta. Her behaviour is disgusting. But her mind is a pure force of nature, it is sincerely, beyond good or evil, her mind simply operates in a completely unselfconscious, un-self reflective way. She has absolutely no conscience. She is quite a brilliant, magnetic personality, next to her, everyone around her seems dull, I’m not kidding. There is no one quite like my Cunta. And I don’t think there ever will be again.

3. What is your greatest fear?

Being trapped in any sense, psychologically or physically. Even just trapped within mediocrity makes me suicidal. I hate to feel stifled in any way. People who are too up close physically or psychologically terrify me. There is nothing rational about this, I feel pure fear. This is why the space between my ears is a no go zone.

------------------

Ok, so far, not so terrible, the rest is...well, I hesitate to publish it. But no one's forcing you to read it either.

See you tomorrow.

Friday

Hello Dear Reader,

So nice to see Friday again, this is just a quick good bye for the weekend. We have guests, so I don't expect to be around very much.

These are nice guests, quiet, intelligent, educated. We're just going to sit around, listen to Radiohead, get high and talk pseudo intellectual bullshit....you know... as well as generally blame vacuous, materialistic, society for all our addictions and afflictions... just as one would expect a bunch of fucked up whining prozac bombed out losers to...


So, I'll see you on the other side my friends, wish you could all be here,

Enjoy #Dudefest if you're going,

otherwise it's Goodbye and Love from

Your Friend

Sir Fudge Esq x

Email: Isn't Pairing up on Twitter Weird?

Dear Sir Fudge Esq

What are your thoughts on anipals pairing up on twitter and getting married. I know you're going to say everyone can do their own thing, but I definitely think it's strange. What must non anipals on twitter think of us?

Signed

Nonplussed


Dear Nonplussed

Thanks indeed for this email. To be quite honest with you, I really don't have an opinion that can neatly answer for, or account for this phenomenon.

But I suppose I have to start somewhere and the first thing that comes to mind is, for every single account on twitter, there is a different motivation for creating it. What does this mean in terms of the question you asked? It means that it's unlikely any one explanation or opinion can rationalize or account for twitter relationships.

One starting point I suppose, is to accept that the personalities of the different avatars reflect the personalities and aspirations of the people behind them. Some people (many probably) believe in marriage for all sorts of reasons. So it's not surprising that this extends into their twitter world.

Some time ago, a friend of mine submitted an email to me which I've posted here explaining the pleasure derived from losing herself in her creation. Her email brilliantly articulated the forgetting of reality and it's conflicts with desire and aspiration.

In other words, in cyber space, an ideal aspirational world is created. I think that's why, sometimes, I'm disliked by a certain type of tweep, it's not in my nature to pretend things are other than as they are. I can't pretend I live in an innocent world of plague ratsies and catnip duckies. There's nothing wrong with these things, I just lack the imagination to pretend even in cyber space, that the world is like that. It's my failing, not anyone else's.

To return to your email, what are my thoughts, and your supposition it's a little weird, the best way for me to answer is that no, it's not weird, it's simply an extension of a world view and an aspiration. It's no more illegitimate than my cynicism or repudiation of a McHappyLand world view. For every avatar/account there is a world view, aspiration being expressed, however unconsciously.

I've also learnt that no one on twitter is isolated. There's room enough for all of us, and everyone can find their niche. Even someone like me who is pretty vulgar and cretinous , I find plenty of people to shoot the breeze with, they accept all of my idiocy and I truly love and respect them for it. I'll admit, that like you, there are some things I struggle to understand. But just because I don't understand it doesn't make it unreasonable, it just means I lack the imagination or perspective to understand it.

And finally, I don't know why, but the idea of tweeps having relationships really appeals to me. I'm not sure why that is, maybe because these relationships are strong clues to understanding the personalities involved, maybe because it appeals to my love of social gossip, who knows? Who cares? In the end, who gives a fuck what I or you or anyone thinks? My advice to all is just be free. You don't know when your time here is up, let go of all the shit. Cyberspace is an arena where it costs us absolutely nothing to live and let live.

Just be free.

Textbook Example of how to Make Me Puke

I really should have posted more by now. The fault lies with the team behind this blog. (See intro section) Those guys just really go off. By the time they've gone I'm just a fucking mess. But hey, there's worse things...I could be a 12 year old Arab boy under an Israeli jeep being accidentally mown over 4 or 5 times for the fun of it...The world is nice!

Have you ever the had the experience where someone is deliberately trying to piss you off, but they're pretending they're actually being nice? You know:

Jealous Uptight Arsehole: "Oh, some people say you're a nasty low down piece of shit, I don't know why they'd say that!! : (nose tap!! :))
Me: "Oh? Really?, who's some people?" (Fuck you two faced obsequious cunt)
Jealous Uptight Arsehole: "I don't remember" (nose tap!! :))
Me: "Well, what the fuck do they say? (You are so fucking full of shit)
Jealous Uptight Arsehole: "They say that you're a rude, uncouth, sick piece of trash" (nose tap!! BIG HUGZ!! :))
Me: "Me? rude? uncouth? sick trash? (Go fuck yourself, one finger salute!! :))
Jealous Uptight Arsehole: "I'm only telling you what other people say sweetie" (XXX ;) Kisses!!! )
Me: "You are making me so fucking nauseous, go fuck yourself" (gag retch vomit)
Jealous Uptight Arsehole :"Ooooohhhh, you nasty prick!! See? you ARE a rude piece of trash!" (nosetaps! :))!!

Some people really are like this. I loathe them so...

Ruminating like a Happy Cow

Dear Reader

I'm so glad last week is dead and gone. Finito. I was truly exhausted and drained. No gas left in the tank. For all those who expressed concern, thanks very much indeed, but you never need to worry about me. Ever. Planet Fudge might be deranged and chaotic, but it's pretty much unsinkable. It's a floater, not a sinker.

There was nothing wrong with me that my ipod, happy pills etc, and black as sin, dry as toast humour couldn't cure. I don't take the shit fest that seriously; neurosis, paranoia, substance abuse, psychological instability, whatever, it's all a huge joke and it keeps me entertained for hours. I never worry about any of it, so don't you either.

We're all going to die of something, and once we go, none of this will matter to us anymore. None of it. No need to get overly fixated on or fucked up about oneself. Let it go. Just be free.

Who's constantly happy/emotionally stable anyway? a fucking cow in a field chewing grass all day. Barely a sentient being...and just as fascinating. I prefer the mercurial and angst ridden to the dumb happy fuck that's never had an original thought in his head, who's greatest desire is to fill up on McShitFood while he's loses himself in tv land... and kids himself he's a happy, happy regular guy.


I think the nicest thing that was said about my blog came from someone on DM, they said "... it feels good to be reminded that I'm not alone, that dysfunction is everywhere..."

Right you are my dear. It is everywhere. But you know, it's worst amongst those who won't admit that they are... and we all are.

Friday (Late) Sum Up

Dear Reader;

I hope you're well, and if you are, I wish I could share that feeling of wellness with you. This week has been, to put it mildly, a shit fest. Don't get me wrong, some very nice things happened too. But I'd have to say, on the whole, it was exhausting and odious.

The worst of it was, it all went wrong due to my own half-wittedness. On more than several occasions I unintentionally caused hurt by blundering about with my usual insensitive bullshit, (I have no tact!) whenever I tried to be nice it all went pear shaped, in the end I just retreated into my mushy marshmellow, but even that evoked ill feeling, some tweeps became a little testy because they thought I was avoiding them.

However, it gets worse. I have another account I tweet from. ParanoidAdroid. I use this account when I want to talk to someone privately, could be to discuss new adventures in self medication, politics, religion or just filthy smut. Essentially, stuff that's not fit for the timeline. Anyway, I'd signed out of Sir Fudge Esq and into ParanoidAdroid. BUT, for some reason, Twitter synced the two accounts (I've since learned that I need to close firefox first).

Oh woe...The upshot was, I thought I was nice and cosy with a close friend smoking weed and bragging about being high as a fucking kite, head like a ferris wheel in slow motion, making all kinds of risque remarks, along with usual expletives, and it was being broadcast to the fucking timeline! @#!$$!!^%$!! Aaaaaghghggh, cringe. To make matters worse, I was so stoned, I sent what was intended as a DM to the timeline as well. Pure genius!

Oh, God, for my sins thou hast made me a blithering idiot...

The only saving grace was that we hadn't moved on to the really foul smut talk. You know before I was on prozac, I was completely insane, but very switched on to everything. Now I'm calmer, but stupider, I used to be so obsessive about making things work properly, now it's like, ah, so fucking what, who cares, someone will sort it for me... I seem to be experiencing a kind of degenerative psychological regression, but...ah,... so fucking what... who cares...someone will sort it for me...somehow...

And how to top all this off? I'm supposed to ring the Cunta Kinta tonight. Two hours of her screaming into my fucking ears till they bleed. Screaming about what? About every non white who ever walked the earth. About communists, about the bloody weather, about capitalists, about druggies, (!) about our dear Vati who drank himself to death, about Americans, about the English, (in short, all non Germans, but the Italians are ok, apparently she met one she liked!) about the bourgeoisie, about the European Union, about Slavic people, Russians especially, about the blade of grass that's higher than the others, about the uncle who didn't wear a tie to the dinner table and didn't eat all his food and slopped a spot on his shirt (he's 50 for Christ's sake!) etc about me not having graduated yet....all of this is the stuff of high voltage simmering rage for her...and reason for me to heavily self medicate about fifteen minutes before I ring....

Ah well, something to look forward to... once I'm high, it's certain to be a meeting of great minds...

Wishing you a Cunta free weekend, (pray for me tonight)

Cheers, Grumps and Love, From your friend,

Sir Fudge Esq.

Advice on How not to Look Like an Idiot When Dumped

I prefer to be dumped then to dump. I don't really know what to say when someone sends a go between to find out why I unfollowed, blocked, whatever. What I really want to say is "Use your fucking head retard, you're just pointless clutter on my timeline, we don't like each other so why not cut the bullshit and just say our goodbyes".

I get exhausted by having to pretend I like someone. I find bullshit consumes too much energy. I just don't want to - especially not when I'm trashed.

The other thing I don't understand is why some take it personally when they are unfollowed? It's no big deal, doesn't mean there's anything wrong with you, not everyone likes everyone, it would be bizarre to expect them to. You would have to have the personality of a fucking egg to be everybody's love dumpling. The saying goes: "If you have no enemies, you have no character."

What really grates is when someone I've unfollowed and removed from follows, starts fucking screaming on the public timeline "Ooooohh!! that prick Sir Fudge blocked me" I'm not kidding this has happened about 5 times. Never blocked these wankers, but they want to enjoy their moment of bleeding and spraying in public. There there little one...hurt egos need to hit back. I understand...

May I offer some advice to these half witted drama queens?... Why don't you just go fuck yourself. Grow up. Why not take a look at your own behaviour, the way you say things, the things you've said, you may find the answer there? Don't expect me to explain your weirdo fucked up shit fest psychology, that's your, not my, responsibility.

I unfollowed and removed you from follows because I just don't like you or gel with you, is that so fucking difficult to understand?

If you never forgive me this apparently heinous offence, at least give me credit for brutal honesty, and frankly, I would much rather deal with the straightforwardly brutally honest than the type of slimy, condescending, obsequious cunt that insults me and gives me a fucking nose tap at the same time; Ugh!! get off me you disgusting slime. FU.

DM Etiquette: How not to be an Obnoxious Dickhead

Have you ever had the experience of being in several conversations at once, having a great time, and some one shouts "DM!" at you? Not "hey I sent you a dm, whenever you've the got the time," or "I'm really sorry but it's pretty urgent...?" Just fucking "DM", like it's a fucking order or something. Every time I see it, I just think Fuck Off... And I take my time.

And just for the record. I'm not the only one who feels this way. Oh groan, I can hear the outrage already, the self important hurt feelings. To those of you who feel this way, all I can say is, the world doesn't revolve around you, if someone is in the middle of a conversation and it's urgent then at least apologize for the interruption, there's nothing wrong with that. It's only polite. But to shout "DM" at someone when they're clearly in a conversation or several, is just shit manners. Who you are anyway? When did your last fucking slave boy die?

And what really fucking grates is you get there and it's some lame shit that could just as easily have been said on the fucking timeline. FUCK YOU. You've just made someone interrupt a conversation, break off in the middle, leave their friends hanging while they go run around after you for fucking no good reason at all. Are you feeling the irritation you cause? Or are you just so needy for attention that's the whole fucking point of the exercise?

Let me make clear for the simply moronic and the self centeredly moronic who are going to willfully misunderstand this post in order to be all hurt and boo fucking hoo: I can and have spent hours on DM just listening and talking and I'm happy to do it for anyone. I love to listen, and I would never ignore anybody who needed to talk about personal and private things. But if it's something you can say on the time line just LEAVE IT THERE. It's not fucking rocket science. Don't bully people and monopolize their attention for the sake of your own fucking ego trip.

And then there's all that fucking mafiosi, spymaster, presents, hugs, you know: "I just sent you a fat fucking puppy, you should send me a fat cunt!" Don't spam me with that shit. It's boring, moronic and unwelcome. Say it on the timeline there's nothing wrong with that. But to load up someone's DM box with junk is just fucking rude. GROW UP.

It's fine to leave DMs for friends and let them respond or not, in their own sweet time, but to expect an instant response to your DM and become irate if they don't is just spoilt and arrogant. Grow Up.

DM me anytime, but don't spam me with bullshit you can just say on the timeline. And if you're the kind of person whose ego this bruises, I just don't fucking care, chances are I was never that into you anyway.

If anyone unfollows me over me this, I salute you with one finger as you march your spoilt lilttle brat ego out the door. Good Riddance.

How to get High and Have a Fun Time

Greetings Dear Reader

My head is still... oh, how to explain this feeling? kind of spacey after my last little experiment. This means it must have gone well. Only it can make simple things a little tricky, ie: typing.

Why do I do it to myself? I mean really, why? What do I get out of regularly turning my head into a no go zone? It's like a fucking marshmellow right now.

Yesterday, two well intentioned tweep friends implied, (independently of one another) that really, I must be a troubled soul to do this to myself. Well, not really, I don't think. Ok, I'll settle for a little weird that I can't get my jollies by you know, consumerism, McHappyPlastic, fast food, packaged holidays, tv land, skank mags, vacuous plastic boob job pop culture, rationalized, sedated society...

I know, I know, something's desperately wrong with me obviously.

Being pleasantly stoned is a science and an art. My method is minimum input for maximum trashedness. If one plans it properly, the liver need not rot away; by carefully combining moderate amounts of vodka with happy pills, weed (anything you like really), one can achieve the desired chemical reaction... And oh lord. What a high... What an incredible shit fest in the brain, circuits wallow in happiness, synapses fire off mellow bliss. At that moment, I sincerely wish everyone could be as quietly happy, as affable. There's quite a few people I know who could really, really, fucking do with it.

Needless to say, I'm a strong believer in the freedom to self medicate.

But you know, there's always some cretin out to bum your high. Some politician, bureaucrat who was the fat boy at school nobody liked. Some puritan cracker cunt revenging themselves upon a world that they feel has passed them by for being whatever...too ugly, too socially inadequate, altogether too unpleasant to love and so on, ad nauseum.

The downside? There isn't much of one really. As I never use uppers (amphetamines: cocaine, speed etc) of any kind (ugh), I never experience the hell of coming down. At worst, I can only think in binary code ie: thoughts and sentences become very simple logical units. Nothing extends beyond the logistics of 2 + 2 = 4.

That's not so catastrophic is it? Now pardon me dear reader, I need to crawl back into my marshmellow and hide out for a while. I sense the soulless spectre of a homogenized bourgeois world closing in on me...time to fucking run for my life...

Friday Summary

Good evening to all, it's Friday evening and the weekend slowly hoves into view. That's Nice. This is the one night of the week we can all get pissed with impunity. Let's face it, even in this atheistic age, we all (ok neurotic little old me at any rate) still feel a little ashamed to be waking up drunk as a Lord on Sunday, God's Day of Rest. Amen.

For me God is a bit like the Nosferatu... I don't believe in him, but I'm scared of him. I pack as much as I can into Friday and sober up innocent as a lamb before the Nosferatu on Sunday. I must have him fooled cos I always wake up fucking alive on Monday...some lame God.

Well goodness, what a week it's been. How about that old Cunta Kinta and her iron lungs huh? The sound of her screaming bloody fucking mad is still trapped like a recording in my head. Earlier today someone implied I said things to generate a bit of sensation, No! No! you silly spoilt half wit WASP amoeba halfwit, it's all true. Sorry to piss all over your fluffy McHappyland weltanschaung, but people like the Cunta Kinta DO exist. And frighteningly, they breed and produce offspring... as well as other disasters.

Ok, having covered God, the Mother...let me complete the unholy trinity with a look at Poll Results. Let's start with the Hugs Are Nice! poll: 36% agreed I was an emotional retard. This fulfills my masochistic needs so I'm very grateful. Thank you. A very impressive 54% agreed with me that Hugs are Cyber Fucking. Well, that's right too. Someone tried it on me today, I nearly lost it, seriously nearly cracked the fuck up....Moving on... I think the people that most impressed were the extremely deviant 36% who reported they secretly got off on hugs.

This may be the most fascinating twitter poll of all time. The next time someone offers someone else a hug I'm going to die laughing, well over a half will think they're being cyber fucked, and over a quarter will be quietly getting off. Fun times!

Ok devolving from God to the Cosmos: 38 % agree that the universe is a dark, chaotic and violent place (right you are) The McHappyLand voters were quite obviously joking or drunk so I won't even bother with them. 26 % rather creatively decided that the the whole thing was a figment of their imagination, and a sweetly naive 15% were rather surprised to find there was a universe. Well I admire them, that's the kind of oblivion I aim for on a daily basis.

What can I offer these geniuses? Perhaps an all expenses paid trip to that Eighth Wonder of the World, the psychopathic Cunta Kinta?...they may not know there's a universe...but they'll surely find there's a Hell...

Wishing you a hug free weekend;
Cheers and Love from your Friend

Sir Fudge Esq

It's a Cyber Psych Ward Out There, Beware the Freakshows...

Has anyone ever experienced the creepiness of undue, sinister attention on twitter? I have.

I'm not talking about the harmless ones sniffing around for a cyber fuck. Who cares, one can simply say yes or no. There is no harm done by asking, that never offends me. I mean the types who constantly bombard your DMs with aggressively personal questions, who are always in your face, and if you ignore them, start trying to make trouble for you.

I've recently had 2 such experiences. Both people involved are now blocked. One of them, invented another account and sent me DM after DM trying to get me to bitch about people I tweet with. It was all so fucking transparently an attempt to cause trouble. Eventually I made it clear on the timeline that I knew it was all a sham. Within a few minutes, the account was deleted. Good riddance evil destructive cunt.

A few months ago, there was someone who sent me some very bizarre DMs, not a day went passed that I didn't receive something barely coherent and aggressive. It was like getting a DM from a fucking ape. When I politely made it clear that I preferred they talk to me on public timeline, their tactics changed.

They began to ask me openly as well as obliquely for personal details, and tried to act as though it was a joke. They started to make bitchy comments about me based on tweets I'd sent to others, in other words, they were letting me know that they were watching me. A very close friend later told me he'd received DMs from one of them hinting quite broadly I was an arsehole, didn't he agree? etc etc.

A few days ago, they started to get very nasty. It's my policy to never bother responding when this happens, I just block and forget. It isn't possible to beat the insane, the stupid, the vicious at their own game. They enjoy fucking with people, engage with them -and they've got you where they want you.

I don't doubt that I bring a lot of this on myself. Anyone who says the ridiculous half witted things I do is probably going to invite fixation of some form. But all the same, it's very creepy.

There's a lot more to the story, too much to relate here, but this I found especially unnerving, the 1st psycho I mentioned, would constantly imply both openly and on DM that I was mentally ill, that there was something very wrong with me. I think he got quite frustrated when I told him, that not only did I completely agree, but I also rather enjoyed psychological instability. It's not a point I'm terribly fragile about, but I do wonder though, how it would have affected someone a lot more easily hurt than me...

I have many extremely good friends here that I'm very tight with, I can tell them anything, so on the whole, I don't feel vulnerable or isolated when freakshows fixate on me. But I can't emphasize enough how
unnerving and eerie it is.

I've learned that just because someone has an avatar with something furry on it, doesn't mean they're harmless, twitter is the same as any public space anywhere, the same levels of good nature, evil nature, kindness and nastiness exist. Politeness and friendliness won't save you if someone is out to hurt you. For your own sake, be very very discerning about who you allow into your headspace.

Email: Is it Cute or Dumb?

Why are do Twitter animals use baby talk? Sometimes I can't even parse what in the hell they are saying. We all have preferred names for things like "shiny on a stick". those are fine. I am talking murdering words to be cute and adorable. Animals are cute and adorable by definition. We don't have to try, we are what we are.

I may not be the brightest cat, but Mom taught me to speak in complete sentences in the American version of the King's English. Everyone misspells, but to purposefully spell "hooman"? Are they trying to imitate a Scots' hoot man?

Mom is a chemist and has had to dumb down in front of men, and now regrets it. In the same manner, if animals dumb themselves down, they are expecting to be treated as a subhuman species. I find that if I act as intelligent as I can, Mom and I can have conversations, and I able to express what I feel and/or need.

Whenever I see a tweet that is gobbledygook, I ignore until I see some sort of intelligence. Then, and only then might I pay attention to the critter. But, mainly, they can take a powder.

Signed
Anonymous

I visit Cunta Kinta, and teach the kiddies a few tricks...

This weekend I saw the Cunta Kinta, my Omi (german for granma). I had 3 main objectives: 1. Cause no trouble 2. Say nothing, nod and smile alot 3. Stay constantly stoned.

The plan was simple in theory. I had a relative who deeply and utterly pissed me off. I said nothing, but in my mind she was slowly being roasted to death on a spit whilst marinating in my urine. Yes, yes! nasty I know...but you don't know this psychopathic slut of a woman.
Oddly enough, this horrendous bitch has managed to produce 2 rather wonderful children...two boys, who are just the coolest kids, and a third, a girl, who is rather a waste of space, not offensive, just boring as bat shit.

Anyway, the high point of the weekend, was when Omi imagined one of the kiddies gave her a bit of lip (they didn't, these boys are angels) the upshot was, the Cunta Kinta screamed her fucking nuts off...it was kind of funny but alarming at the same at the same time, she has lungs like jet engines on heat...you seriously do not want to be close by.
I hustled those kiddies off as fast as I could (in my stoned state) it was like, "come on boys, come and help your uncle Fudge in the bathroom...Kid A: hold the spoon steady Kid B: hold the tourniquet for your Uncle Fudge...nice and tight, there's a good lad..." Just for the record, Kid A is 13 Kid B is 17, old enough to assist their Uncle to self medicate as far as I'm concerned. Don't bullshit yourself they haven't seen it all before...

All the guys in my family are very cool. The drunken uncle who is fantastically intelligent and self medicates on anything with an alcohol content every night, my other weirdo uncle (nearly 50) who just laughs at everyone and oddly enough, is a health fanatic who still lives at home with omi (we only have extremes, middle of the road just doesn't exist for us, either survive any which way, or go crawl in a hole and die, I never said we were nice people)

There's also the poor bastard who is married to the horrendous bitch, he frequently rings one of my aunts almost in tears because his marriage is a nightmare...I tried to warn the poor prick when he first started courting my sister...he hated me then, he talks to me now like a desperate, lonely man...he knows better now. What can I say to him? "that's my family honey, mad, bad, and dangerous to know..."

Cheers guys, hope your weekend was cool. Anyone offended/disgusted by this post, let me tell you something sonny, I actually left out the worst bits

Weekly Summary

Greetings Dear Reader;
It's been a horrible week. No doubt things are worse in Palestine, but on Planet Fudge, my little bolt hole from the dark, chaotic and violent universe we inhabit, things have not been so nice either.
First Planet Fudge was flooded with a sea of vodka that caused all circuits to malfunction for days on end, then then came an attack of some kind of evil gastro bots which severely fucked up the waste disposal unit and finally the insanely nightmarish news that the Planet is about to be invaded from without by the Evil Cunta Kinta.
I can't take it any more.
You may recall dear reader, the poll I ran asking tweeps to decide: 1.whether or not I should fuck off. 2. that I should stay on account of the schadenfreude I provide 3. that I can stay provided I hand out sexual favours (head jobs). That was the soft option. Although really, when you think about it, there isn't that much difference between options 2 and 3.
I'm pleased to provide the following results: 4 % chose Fuck Off. 65% chose Stay, Schadenfreude. 30% per cent chose option 3.
49 people participated. None of the options required anyone to make humiliating, cloying declarations of love (you know "Stay Fudgie Wudgie we wuvs you") but in fact closely approximated the true conditional qualities of liking someone (I love you cos I feel superior to you, I love you cos you give me head etc etc) So I'm inclined to think that these results are to some degree reliable.
To the 4% who would like me to fuck off, what can I do? If I offer to kill myself, will that placate?

Anyway, I'm going to conclude by saying, a big thank you to all who participated. Should anyone change your mind about me you'll get your chance to say so, I'm going to run similar polls in the future because I love them and they fulfill my masochistic needs, so please, don't feel bad if you want me to fuck off, chances are, I share the sentiment.

Cheers and Love, from your friend

Sir Fudge Esq

Packing for a Trip

I have to go away for a few days to visit my Kunta Kinta. (explanation available on request). The whole thing is retarded. I actually have to get a taxi, then a train, then a plane then a train. I don't want to go. It's someone's 80th birthday, won't that be bag of fun...yeah, good luck with that...
These days I'm lucky if I struggle out of bed at 11 in the am. I have to ring a fucking taxi at 9? Wtf? I can see it all going pear shaped pretty quickly...
I honestly don't know what to do...I don't have an alarm clock, I'm too thick to set the mobile alarm. I know I won't go to sleep before 2 am...what to do...what to do...what the fuck to do...
I suppose one thing I can do is pack ahead at least the essentials to survive this disaster: 1. Valium 2. Prozac 3. Vodka 4. Sundry illegal non scripts 5. ipod to tune out the Cunta Kinta's ear splitting, senile racist rants...ah, better take 2 bottles of valium...someone might try to hug me...
With any luck I'll get arrested at the airport, here's hoping . Helping the police with their inquiries is a pretty watertight excuse not attend grandma's 80th isn't it? Who can blame me for that?

Email: In Defence of Ms A. Wearne

Dear Sir Fudge Esq
I am a good friend of A. Wearne's and I agree with everything she said. I know you think you're very clever and smart but you're reply post to her just showed everyone how arrogant and cruel you are. Keep this nasty foul mouthed blog up, you'll soon be losing all your friends.


Name withheld

The nature of the sentimental mob... Appropos of nothing, Just ignore

Self consciously public displays of sentiment revolt me. There's always something coercive and unnatural about them. A kind of mob smugness that sanctimoniously implies if you're not with us, you're a cold, unfeeling creep. Let me give you one example of how this has worked in history.

When that high class good time girl Diana Spencer died because her chauffeur was a stoned drunken speeding fuck, the boo hoo mob went into hysteria hyperdrive. Flowers, tears, cheap sentiment, pop 'stars' recycling lame songs, infotainment nobodies photogenically boo hooing into microphones, cheap arsed women's magazines peddling schmalz, hand wringing and chest beating... oh, it was all so terribly concerned...oh so dreadfully sad... all so boo fucking hoo... sentiment commodified, all played out to the sound track of big business laughing all the way to the bank...

But the really nauseating bit was the pressure on the Queen (the mother in law for Christ's sake!!) to "prove" she cared. No uglier sight than that of the mob forcing it's way into a private person's interior and trying to colonize it with their sickly McHappyLand pop culture sentiment. If I'd have been Queen Elizabeth, I'd have gone out on the balcony and given the crowd the one finger salute and told them to fuck themselves in no uncertain terms...or simply barfed on them...

Has anyone read Shakespeare's "King Lear"? A senile, vain, stupid king banishes the daughter who truly loves him because her integrity and sensitivity preclude her from making a sham parade of her feelings in order to satisfy his grotesque vomit inducing egotistical neediness. Eventually, the old man is stripped of everything: title, friends, protectors, castle...by the daughters who had obligingly declared their undying love...

As for me? I understand very very well that when someone does the "prove you care bit" they are only trying to fuck with me... only trying to establish some kind of domination or make a parade of their own worthless, hollow sentiment to gain attention...Go bleed your sham conscience all over someone else...I'm not your audience. Boo fucking hoo.

Hello It's Monday, (sort of)

Dear Reader,

As several people have commented I'm rather late with my Monday blog entry. I do apologize.
The truth is, I'm a little hungover from the weekend. My eyeballs are still floating around in a sea of vodka and my head is still spinning from other little misdemeanors.

But I did all this for a good cause. I wanted to test my genius hypothesis that there's a correlation between the amount of vodka consumed and the duration of the inevitable hangover.

Unfortunately, after the first two bottles, I lost the ability to scientifically and accurately record my results. So I have no evidence to tender in support of my hypothesis.

However, anecdotally, I can say with reasonable certainty that as my head still hurts like all fuck on this Tuesday, my guess is there's some kind of correlation between 4 bottles of vodka and a hangover that is apparently never going to end...who'd a thought. Also, in the spirit of behaving like a responsible adult, I feel I should offer the following advice: don't try this at home kiddies.

See you properly when my head and liver return to their usual state of serene chaos.


Cheers

Sir Fudge Esq

End of Week Summary

Dear reader. I had a rant prepared, but i think i'll let it go...it's Friday, I'm mellow, who the fuck wants to know... it can wait till Monday...

This Friday concludes my first 4 days of blogging, I think it's been a huge success, relative to my underachiever standards...I've had love mail, hate mail, and pissed off 2 people I didn't really like anyway...I'd say it's all going my way...

My poll results are going surprisingly well, 1 person wants me gone (someone else vote for me to piss off twitter, this person is looking like a goose sitting there all alone, plus it makes the poll look rigged) 75% want me to stay because I give them schadenfreude (joy in the suffering of others) and an impressive 25% say I can stay if I blow them, I think these are the people who really love me...

I have nothing intelligent to say now. I can only wish everyone a lovely schmaltz free weekend. Thank you to those who have read and commented. I aim to please and often misfire.

If anyone has been offended by anything said here, may I suggest you truly are a fucking idiot for taking a blog seriously that advises it can only be best digested with huge volumes of vodka? My guess is you spend much of your life offended....

Cheers and Love, from Your Friend

Sir Fudge Esq

Email: Re Hugger Schmugger Shit

Dear Sir Fudge
Your post on paw circles and hugging made me so angry. Why do you always have to twist things so that you see them the worst possible way? A lot of people are comforted by paw circles, but you have to sneer at them. Like one of the people who commented said, there's something wrong with you. Someone who admits to drug taking and talks about prostitutes doesn't belong on the anipal community. You're a bad example to everyone else. I know you get a lot of attention when your on twitter, I don't know why, I wish you would just go away. You need a psychiatrist.

This blog is disgusting. You should just go away.

Proudly signed A. Wearne

Hugger Schmugger Shit: You Seem to Have Mistaken Me For Someone Who Gives a Fuck

I'm supposed to be asleep but I can't sleep, I'm thinking about a really nice offer I got from a fellow tweep which sadly, I couldn't take advantage of, my net connection went bung, cyberus interruptus... but that's ok, she'll keep...

You seem to have mistaken me for someone who gives a fuck. This has got to be one of the most gloriously dismissive expressions all time. Or "why are you even bothering me with your boring bullshit" another personal favourite.

I'm going to use these the next time someone tells me/implies I'm cold, arrogant, selfish or fucked in the head because I don't want to do things like pawcircles, cuddlepiles, hugs, or other public demonstrations of sentiment. I don't have anything against these things, but I just can't/don't want to do them.

Not everyone is born into Prayer circle/paw circle culture/mentality, not everyone wants to fucking hug, I would never lay a cyber paw/hand on anyone I didn't know well, I respect their personal space far too much. I would never presume that someone I don't know well would want me to be all over them. That kind of thing disgusts me to the core. BUT, I have no problem at all with those who like that kind of thing.

Funny isn't it? there's a certain type that persists in telling me how hard hearted I am, which itself is a kind of bullying criticism and yet I'm the one that's able to accept that some do, some don't...

I don't mind being the butt of jokes about hugging and touchy feely stuff, I enjoy it and think it's funny, but people who act as if there's something wrong with me because I don't want to cyber fuck a stranger (which to me is no different to all of the above mentioned) just piss me right off.

On twitter, I never imply there is something wrong with someone who is culturally different. I accept people exactly as they present themselves to me, I don't ask any more from them. Would be so nice if certain types could return this rather kind and all embracing outlook...

Email: Twitter Addiction

Dear Sir Fudge Esq,

Twitter Addiction. The instant gratification of hearing from someone who is a cyber friend. Being able to swap embellished tales without fear of the spouse saying you're full of shit. And, most of all, being able to hide behind the avatar and imagine yourself popular.

I am proud to be a geek who was tortured by the popular kids. However, Twitter has given me a taste of what it's like to be popular. My gorgeous avatar has such witty repartee and isn't awkward around scads of people. It's heaven on earth to not be me for a couple of hours a day.

Yes, even at this ripe old age, you can still become addicted. "Hello. I'm Rudy's mom, and I'm a Twitter addict."

Please sign:

RudyCKat's Mom