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.