Archive for the 'Uncategorized' Category


On an unrelated note.

One of the reason I haven’t kept up with posting on here as much as I should is that I’m busy writing for other people… They don’t pay me or anything but I get free shit occasionally as opposed to getting nothing out of this except the odd compliment from half drunk strangers in bars and clubs. In addition to writing for other people, I’ve expanded my corner of the internet in a bid to start getting paid more for this thing I do with words. I now have a personal website/on-line portfolio!
If you’re inclined to the type of trash I talk on here, you’ll love it that much more when I’m actually trying…. Go see,


Next Post

I totally just did this! Except when porn popped to the forefront of my internal ranting I actually went and found some…

Sweet Mother

The below is a list of what happens in my brain for the next 31 minutes after I hit “publish” each and everyday.  Note:  I only have about 1 original thought per minute, the other thoughts within that minute are variations of the original-thesis thought for that correpsonding minute.


Min 1:  “Did my post suck today?  It’s been a minute and there is only one “like”.  Maybe it sucked.”


Min 2:  “It’s Sunday, people don’t read very many blogs on Sunday, that’s a low-views day according to my stats.”


Min 3:  “Oh, wait, it’s Monday.  Okay, that is also a low-views day – so is Tuesday and Wednesday and hold on…”


Min 4:  “I should’ve written about my Mom.  People like it when I write about my Mom or my Wifesy.”


Min 5:  “I don’t think I should’ve capitalized Mom in that last minute…

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pissingblood’s grindhouse classic review: thriller: a cruel picture

Most of the really good exploitation films are really nothing more than slightly embellished graphic depictions of the seedier side of life. It’s why showing them to the unprepared, middle class, white-bread-with-no-crust folk is fun… This movie goes by a few names, the two English titles being, Her Name Was One Eye, the censored version, or the more common title but less cool, Thriller: A Cruel Picture. Regardless what you call the film, it stars Christina Lindberg as the title character, who had a hand in convincing the rest of the world that Sweden was where hot woman were made in the 70’s… She also spends more than half of it barely clothed, which is nice.

they called her one eye, christina lindberg

It’s the age-old tale of a poor European girl tricked by an older, richer man into a life of drugs and prostitution. Instead of dying on the street from AIDs, or at the hands of a dude with an anger problem stemming from being inadequately endowed, she overcomes adversity and escapes the life of a lady of the night. Well, presumably… She uses her ill-gotten income, already a deviation from the tale I know, what exploited woman has disposable income? Anyway, showing off her personal finance skills, she saves up and hands over some serious cheddar for training in the martial arts, shooting lessons and advances driving classes on her days off. Yet another deviation. Do prostitutes get days off? Why would her day off be a Monday? It’s like she works at a restaurant… Still they are some quirky hobbies. Even for a country girl who was once headed for a simple life of milking cows and instead ended up getting a raw deal following the, no doubt, shiny allure of a greasy cunt in a sports car.

thriller:a cruel picture

yup... that's the only thing you have to say to get girls in your car in Sweden apparently

The plot isn’t as simple as that, obviously. One Eye, still known as Madeleine at this point, is mute after being raped as  a child by some dirty old beast. Being mute however may have just been a tactful decision by someone in charge to help the film not be completely ruined by a porn star stumbling through her lines. Madeleine’s folks spend all they can on getting her help after her ordeal. After missing the bus to her speech therapy session, she ends up meeting Tony, the stereotypical lecherous cat that lures innocents into a life of depravity. Tony forces Madeleine to get hooked on heroin and earning on her back. He also gives cause for her nickname after she attacks her first visitor. The scene in which it happens, its rumoured, the director procured a corpse to pull off. It only adds to the cringe factor when you sit and watch the scene. Dead or fake, it’s still an eyeball getting taken out. Hence, Madeleine becomes One Eye, and her spirit is finally broken and she soon gets her regulars. A pervert who likes to take photos, an ugly fat bastard who likes to put his peepee in places the sexually unadventurous deem “out-of-bounds” and a sadistic lesbian who can’t decide if she wants to make out or fight. Pretty different tastes, but they all like the taste of One Eye’s nubile tender flesh. One Eye does what woman do best, endures, and accessorizes… She collects quite an array of eye patches to match her outfits. One Eye eventually discovers that Tony inadvertently caused her parents suicides, by sending them a fake letter posing as Madeleine, which she discovered earlier in the film, and he kills her only friend in the film, Sally a fellow working girl. These two events break the hookers back, and One Eye goes on the offensive. Her off days from then on are spent becoming a killing machine with the singular goal of making motherfuckers pay for what they done.

From that point the film follows your standard revenge plot… One Eye offs the villains one by one eventually facing off with her original tormentor, Tony. No one can help cheering for One Eye while she fucks up pretty much everyone and everything that gets in her way of taking out the bastards that abused her. She messes up some cops and steals their car for their troubles and shoots up a truck for no real reason. It’s one of the films that really cemented the revenge flick genre formula that’s been done countless times with varying degrees of success, with budgets of varying sizes. This particular revenge movie is famously known for being one of Quentin Tarantino‘s favourites. One thing that stands out is the use of slow motion during the ultra violent shots. It’s pretty clear though that no one bothered to shoot a sawed off shotgun at something meaty to see what the resulting wound would actually looked like. If you’re a fan of the ol’ B-grade revenge films you’ll want to check this out. There are many reasons why it’s one of the biggest B-grade fan’s favourite film and I’m pretty sure it wasn’t the graphic sex montages… It’s haunting the way she just sits calmly in a picturesque field watching Tony get his head slowly pulled off. Something about the Swedes, they sure can come up with a sadistic revenge tale. Having read Stieg Larrson’s, The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo series and the hectic shit his anti-heroin does to get back at her tormentors, makes cute little Swedish *flickor look like serious bad asses…

i'm no expert, but I'm pretty sure a shotgun shell to the forehead makes a bigger mess of your face...

*Swedish for, “girls”.

sum disappointment

No, I wasn’t there… I had no intention of going, not even for a moment. Even when I heard one of the local punk bands Low Profile were one of the support acts. I don’t indulge my inner 16-year-old girl by listening to shit pop punk music like Sum41. I indulge her by getting fondled in night club toilets. I don’t even care if you’re in to the whiny ear raping music either. Just don’t make me listen to it. You may be wondering why I am mentioning that Sum41 were in Durban at all, if it’s not to rip big gory holes out them and the people who listen to them? The reason is that too many people, my fellow Durbanites, have been disappointed once again by a gig at the Wave House. I realise that most of the disappointment this time round stems from the fact that Sum41 are such rock stars that they refused to go on stage citing the weather as too bad to play. I wasn’t there, so I don’t know how bad the weather was, I was out and about in Durban, and the weather didn’t seem that bad where I was, but I was told it was dubious so there you go. The fact that the band and the venue handled the situation a touch indelicately left a lot of former Sum41 fans with a bad taste in their mouth. I imagine it would taste quite similar to a rock star’s anus.

It’s about time that Durban gig goers start asking more of their venues and organisers. I know people in Durban that pull off really great events, yet somehow these so-called professional organisers with more resources at their disposal manage to disappoint so many, so often. It comes down to the fact that these events are not put on for the purpose of bringing fans the music they love and letting them have a party. The Wave House is in a fucking mall! The symbol of capitalism! The Mecca of money! You should automatically be paranoid and distrustful of everything you’re witnessing and experiencing in these places already. They have made it seem like you’re there to enjoy music and revelry, in reality though it is farce. They are only interested in catering for people who are there to spend money in the mall. They shoddily put together these events with little to no consideration for their patrons. It is simply an exercise in separating people from their money. Which any retard will tell you is not Punk or anything even close to Rock ‘n’ Roll. Then they refuse to let anyone consume alcohol outside of the designated bar areas preventing anyone who enjoys liquid social lubricant from enjoying the bands. They do this to limit the chances of some under-age mall rat getting their hands on a frosty alcoholic beverage, I’m guessing. I’ve been to countless all-ages gigs where booze is on sale openly and the boozers aren’t forced to the outskirts of the venue. Listen, you puritan soccer-mom ass holes! If you can’t figure out how to sell alcohol at a gig with kids around without setting up prison camps you’re a fucking retard and have clearly never attended a live music show anywhere. At the end of the day, if a kid wants to drink, they’ll drink, regardless if you sell it to them at the bar or not. I know I would’ve made a plan and I don’t think the kids of today are any less resourceful when it comes to getting shit faced. Really what you’re doing is just pissing off the people with money at your show and reducing your chances of making money at the bar. Then there is this curfew for 16 year old you enforce at 11pm. You really are a bunch of old woman aren’t you? Before the last band is even finished the bars are closed down then as soon as they leave the stage, without an encore, the mall cops are out in full force herding, sometimes with unnecessary force, everyone out of the side gate to the Wave House. If that isn’t a show of disrespect to the people who have chosen to attend your joke of a concert, usually at great cost, then I don’t know what is. I don’t particularly care about encores, but for as long as performances have been given, encores have been called for. It’s a show of appreciation by the audience to the performers, and the performers reciprocate as way of thanking the audience for their support and appreciation. Wave House really wants to be those shit eating bastards that disrupt this ancient ritual? Cretins! Blasphemers! Rapists!

I have no delusions that anything I’ve written here will change a damn thing in the minds of the Nazi fucks that run the Wave House. My only intention really is point out to those of you that know what I say to be true to start showing a little back bone. Boycott the Wave House. Sure you may miss the chance to see some band you really like, but if enough people skip these insults to fans and performers, then perhaps the Wave House will change their attitude, or better yet, gigs will be held in venues that cater to the love of music, and not the love of money. Durban deserves to see the bands they love, and deserves to see them outside the confines of a fucking mall. To those of you that rarely ever go see live music because you’d rather attend something nice and safe like a mall to consume your music, you’re not only a very sad person, but you should be put down or made sterile as punishment for being so horribly misguided and middle class.


tart up your t**t.

Pubic hair… Who looks at a bush and says to themselves, “I could make some money off that!” As strange as it sounds, someone did. I’m not talking about the conventional waxing, pruning services either. Throw that out altogether. This mind took it a few steps further. A mind like that is a wondrous thing, as much as it’s disturbing. The founder of betty™, apparently got the idea while in Rome. I bet it was just her playing around with hair dye and realising it burnt like shit when she put dye near sensitive areas. Then, that doesn’t make it sound as chic does it?

The other day while lazing in front of my computer avoiding work, looking at facebook I saw one of betty™’s ads come up on the side panel. I usually never pay attention to them because they’re mostly bullshit. This one however got my attention and I’m glad it did. After telling my brother he informed me that those ads are tailored to you based on your use of facebook, but for the life of me I have no idea how the-book-of-face thought this would be an appropriate product to market to me. Other than to make fun of.

It’s all down to personal taste… Pubic hair, I mean. Some like it wild. God knows why. I haven’t met a guy yet who prefers “al naturale”. In fact a few of my mates have literally pulled their hands out of girls knickers so fast you’d think something bit them, and made hasty retreats from otherwise really attractive girls because of excess hair. Thankfully I haven’t encountered a woolly snatch yet, so I’ve yet to know what my reaction would be. I’m pretty adverse to just the sight of a healthy panty-forest though so I may do a runner too. I’ve come across a few different types of styles in my time but overall the trend is less is more. As a result of this, I keep my own patch bald, or as close to as possible. I think of it as a common courtesy. According to Cosmo, it means I’ll try just about any form of kink at least once… Which is true, but I don’t put much faith in the accurateness of a magazine notorious for making mens’ lives harder by filling womans’ heads with drivel and solving their problems with questionnaires.

Back to my point… Here is a company that offers ladies and men I guess, the products with which to get creative with their clam beards. You can now sport a heart, bow tie, lightening bolt or lips on your mounds ladies! That’s awesome!!! I’d be pretty impressed if I whipped down a girls girly things to be greeted by a Hot Pink heart… Or even a blue lightening bolt. Why not, right? My only issue with the product is that it really does say a lot about Western society. We’ve stooped to such depths of blind consumerism that we can be sold products to make, what essentially every man and lesbian want since they hit puberty, to look like something out of a cartoon porno. To me, tarting up a twat is worse than paying top dollar for bottled water. Bottled water to my mind is the pinnacle of useless consumerism. It’s like selling breathable air. Then again, guys want lady bits as much if not more than clean air or water. Not that anyone is selling or buying sex here, it’s a just a comparison because we’re talking about a product.

Understandably I’m taking the view of a cynical male on essentially a product for woman. It wouldn’t exist if woman didn’t want to use it, that’s a given. I’m sure the cheeky little front bum secret is quite exciting for them. The reaction they get whenever the lucky laddie sees her decorated downstairs must be fun too. I’m all for the ladies making it fun for everyone. As long as there isn’t a rash of seasonal sprucing up, like red hearts around valentines day or green Christmas trees around the festive season. This very product has graced the pages of such womanly reading fair as Oprah’s O Magazine and Vogue, twice! It’s also appeared in Playboy Magazine, which I think hints quite accurately that this product may have come out of some male fantasy rather than any woman’s’ idea of fun in the bedroom…

In my humble opinion, I’m all for it. Only when I’m lying there having my post cigarette I’ll be thinking, “Surely you could have spent your money on something more important?” but only to myself of course. To show I’m not a complete sexist bastard, as a show of support for betty™, I thought I’d give some suggestions for new charmcils™, their cleverly named pube stencils.

  • An arrow (up or down, it’s up to you)
  • The word “Hi!” (who doesn’t like this informal friendly greeting)
  • A “welcome” mat (it’s obvious I think)
  • Smiley Face (for when it’s angry)
  • Musical note (we all know it happens)
  • Light bulb (men aren’t the only ones to generate thoughts down there)
  • “X” (like on a treasure map)
  • Speech bubble (to be filled in with a marker)
  • Christmas Tree (it’s mentioned but alas not an actual charmcil™)
  • Fish (crude, but comical)
  • An inverted moustache (could be an entire set here)

If you have an idea for a charmcil™ add it below in the comments section, I’m sure others and the folks at betty™ would love to hear them. To end off, for once I’m interested in your opinion. So to entertain yourself for a few moments more, answer the poll question below.


Evolution: It’s real and happening right now.

If you’re a backward retard, and don’t believe in evolution, I will now attempt to dispel any doubts you may have, right here. For the logical and sane people, you can just read on for fun I guess. This theory, I will warn you though, came about from copious amounts of alcohol and was only really fleshed out under the cloud of a massive hangover, between rather unpleasant shits. Two days of nearly nothing but beer and rum are not good for your digestion. Actually don’t even consider this a theory it’s more just me talking shit.

As it was a long weekend, Thursday was not the quiet night out it usually is, it was destined to be a full-blown, let’s get sick on ourselves and pass out night! We got through our first few drinks and it was decided a nightclub was in order. I personally would not have chosen the nightclub we ended up at, but everyone else seemed quite enthused, so I went along, despite my better judgement. Inside was very nice, very pleasing décor with the shiny surfaces, massive mirrors, pointless vases, and a nice big outside area for those cancer-chasers. I’m sure it strikes most as a pretty classy joint. Standing there I felt like an alien. Not because of my leather and far more niche dress sense. It was the shape of their heads… Almost everyone I looked at had Neanderthal features. They have disproportionately large skulls and jaws with heavy brows. It’s like looking into the face of early man.

Pink-clad Muscle-Mary coming out the shadows.

Me, go to Sasha.

I say almost everyone because, obviously not everyone I saw looked like a shaved gorilla, there were others like me, who had wandered through the gateway to the centre of the earth, in addition to us time travellers, there were the woman. The females in this place were stunning. I had no idea that woman of this calibre congregated in such high numbers in one spot, at one time. It’s worthy to mention that they were dressed in the fashion of sex workers, which coupled with the amount of alcohol clouding my vision, may have skewed my memory on this point. However, it was extraordinary. The entire scene is like something out of a crazy science fiction movie. Beautiful, scantily dressed females dancing, laughing, nattering on, and all in the company of knuckle-dragging ape-men, who wobble to the music and puff themselves up in very gay shirts to impress a potential female. After my initial blind panic and tears I steeled my nerves and was determined to understand these people, much like a social-anthropologist. I smiled at the three young girls who I noted only just covered their breasts with cloth, and their rather well-shaped bottoms peaked out their minuscule skirts, they smiled back then loudly, and very drunkenly shouted, “Hello,” before promptly falling all over each other… On the whole they are a friendly enough bunch. The friendliest of the ape-men I encountered was a bouncer, who engaged me in conversation about my leather jacket and the many decorations upon it. He ended up trying to convert me to his religion though, there is nothing more awkward than a 300kg Born Again Christian. Despite these really fun encounters, I still feel I have to call my journey back in time and space a bust. The hot woman couldn’t even save it. I say this, only after some serious introspection. I feel a little funny about prodding a vagina that had previously had regular visits from a manicured chimp. I couldn’t so much as inspire wood around my ex-girlfriend after someone I felt was rather dirty, never mind less evolved, had penetrated her. The potential whiff of vagina is not enough for me to call an evening a success. I’m a little more discerning than that.

don't care

Warning: Beer Goggles In Use.

Now in comparison to my more regular stomping grounds, punk shows, the nightclub had many failings, but some definite positives. I know it may be bias of me to say this, but there aren’t many social gathering that can top a good punk show. The not-so-friendly looking misfits that attend these sorts of things are just the opposite of what they appear to be. Granted there are some aggressive characters in the mix, but most of them are pretty mellow, friendly sort. They would rather, sit down and chat over a beer than waste the contents by smacking you through the face with the bottle. I myself was surprised when I was swatted through the face by some drugged up punk girl with a horrendous haircut. The only reason I didn’t throttle this despicable thing was for fear of contracting a flesh-eating disease on my hands. How could I type with missing fingers? I would inevitably touch my crotch at some stage too. Those thoughts are too frightening to dwell on. Besides she did apologize profusely immediately after I swore at her. The demented people only add to the mad fun of punk shows. It takes all types, and it keeps it interesting just to see what one of them will do next, like the two people dancing on the car roof. That was quite good. Not like the freakishly homogeneous group of hotties and cavemen in nightclubs. What was also interesting was that no one present at the punk show had a particularly large skull. No ape-men in sight! Also, at the punk gig with all the booze and drugs floating around we had an elderly lady sitting at the door keeping us all in check, where the hotties and cavemen need 20 Goliath roid-monsters to police them. The most violent person at the punk gig was a 60kg ugly girl as opposed to the pink clad muscle-Mary who was stomping around bellowing at his tiny girlfriend and threatening what seemed to be his friends. Could it be, that somehow the smaller skull humans are more evolved, more civilized than the bigger skulls? Let us run off the facts shall we? Nightclubs need to be shiny and distracting in an attempt to keep the cavemen from noticing and attacking each other. The punks are in a mostly wood-panelled establishment with prostitutes renting the rooms upstairs instead of walking around with the patrons. The music, even though punk is considered the least complicated of the music genres seems cerebral when compared to the beat driven bollocks they pump out in the nightclubs, which frankly, can only appeal to those more comfortable sitting around a fire drumming feverishly on hollow logs. Granted there are fewer women at live gigs than in the nightclubs, which in all honestly is the biggest plus for a nightclub, but aren’t there enough people on the planet anyway? Why encourage needless procreation for the sake of profit? It’s just irresponsible to my mind. Based on my observations I put it to you that we are living in the midst of those thought to live in the mist… Thousands of years have passed and no one spotted that we are actually living alongside lesser-evolved humanoids that we have to compete with if we are to survive.

Frankly I don’t think I have much of a point to this long speech, but there it is. I’m too lazy to write any more and I feel a spell of the squirts heading towards my ass again. I will leave it here and let you fill in any gaps, which I imagine there are plenty. If I’ve offended you, I am genuinely surprised you can read, and you can lick my left one. If you’re not offended and enjoyed this you’re probably quite stupid and I think you can suck my right one. I’m bringing people together with my balls. I’m a fucking saint…

The bands that played to the Durban punks and that ugly girl with the stupid haircut… Dudes put on a good show so check them out.

Sibling Rivalry:

Hog Hoggidy Hog:


For Your Entertainment.

After much deliberation and procrastination, I have finally given into the idea of starting a blog. I personally, always wondered what kind of person would bother writing a blog, and putting it up on the Internet for others to read with the assumption that whatever they had to write about would be of the slightest interest to someone other than themselves and their best friend, who is a cat. After being hounded by some friends, I did some research and found quite a few blogs that I actually like, but found even more that are no more than on-line diaries. What struck me as even more disturbing than people who write blogs, are the people who read blogs, regularly, and even post comments of encouragement and support. It didn’t take me long to figure out, that the people who spend all day looking at blogs are actually people at work, who are too bored to continue doing what they’re paid to do, opt instead to read bullshit, written by near morons, on the Internet. I drew the conclusion that I could write about almost anything, as long as it was more entertaining than whatever the poor soul chained to their desk had to do, and since most of them sit on facebook, or google-search images of cats or watch porn, the only thing I would really have to compete with then would be “teen gagging on cock” videos. Since I can’t possible match the entertainment value offered up by naked, young ladies performing fellatio on impossibly large penises I’ll have to conceded and settle for second place.

This might be better than my writing

So, after finally sitting down to do this first post I now have to contend with – what should my first topic be? Keeping in mind that this very first post will set the tone for further posts and be my introduction to the blogging community. I sat racking my brain and even browsed other blogs to see what other’s had said, but I quickly lost interest in their thoughts and decided that what I had been thinking about writing before sitting down to actually write was quite good already, and you’ve just read that, so enjoy. Let’s hope you were entertained for the few minutes it took to read through this drivel. I trust it was probably better than the, 14th status update today, by that vague acquaintance you have on facebook, and slightly more compelling than the picture of the cats interspersed with photos of “pussies”, but not quite as riveting as the 2 minute porno clip you just watched. I will hopefully come up with something better next time. Sorry. Try to remember this was my first time. Like many of our first times, involving pleasing another person, they were haphazard and largely just failures. Thankfully though, I can post as often as I like and will improve pretty quickly, unlike you, and your first time, where the other person involved was probably less enthused or didn’t bother to answer any of your texts afterwards and it took you another 2 years to find someone else willing to poke around your nether regions. Yes, they only wanted to sleep with you so they could brag to their friends about taking your virginity, and probably made cruel jokes about your body and your performance. No, that didn’t happen to me, before you begin to think that I’m possibly projecting my own bad experiences. I just know that’s what happened to you. Anyway if this post disappoints you, here is a link to a pretty good porno clip I just watched to make up for it,

“Teen gagging on cock”.

You didn’t offer a consolation prize that’s why they made fun of you.

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