My Dream Come True. (May have been written under the influence of something that rhymes with shmarijuana)

What a fantastic year! It's hard to believe it was only last January that I founded the Ethiopian equestrian school for the disabled. If you did not know, I dedicated myself entirely for two months pairing deaf horses with crippled children.

Seeing the two species function as one, despite a severe language barrier, was truly awe-inspiring. The bond forged between horse and child was so remarkable that my school of man-made symbiosis may very well go down in history as the greatest humanitarian effort since the beginning of Green Peace.

I am heading back this spring with a team of surgeons and physicians to ensure everyone is healthy, and more importantly to initiate the fusing stage of ‘Project Centaur’. Horse and child as one. 

“Gallop free from dribble.”

Christmas is a time for...

Beware! Sexual predator on the loose!

Please seek dental advice before attempting any of the following. 

With old people, puppies and beaten children awaiting their fate at christmas, there is little to do but pray, get horrendously drunk and FSU.

The challenge that is set by the government to drink and drive in the winter months is only fueled further by the bitterly cold weather. These adverts that I speak of make me want to prove to everyone that ice, snow and alcohol should not be feared. We all have places to go when we are drunk, im talking Burger King, Kens Fried Chicken, King Kebab and more likely Ingram's House to binge eat out of his larder.

Alternatively, if you are in a city it is often more difficult to drive, especially when you frequently believe chasing greased up christmas elves (children) down the street is a popular past time. With this method ,the beer jacket will treat you kindly; when short on cash why not ride your bicycle to you favourite drinking destination, giving you the ability to cycle home when done. There can be risk of falling off and damaging parts of yourself and your bike, this set back should not be realised untill the morning due to the numbing pain of the alcohol.

Jesus once said "Get born and get loads of random shit you don't really want, then sell sell sell on ebay!"

God replied "Ride On!"

And this is why we have Christmas, its about praising Christ's relentless ability to turn a Simpsons Mug in to £3.49 and an oversized jumper with the solar system on it in to £11.72 and 12 bottles of Evian Water into £12.00 which is probably enough to buy a shit load of cheap wine. His skills have been read by hundreds of 10's around the world. Some have questioned his miracles, and even his existence; yet every year millions drink and drive in celebration of the baby hairless super hero, jesus.

But the real lesson here is not to fall asleep in JD Wilson's (available on facebook) bed after a Christmas binge because he will turn you black. JIZZY CHRIZZY EVERYONE!

Justin 'blackish' Friend (also available on FB)

Why you should never apply to Eggheads.

Last night, one of my house mates, Edward Charles Law, born in Swindon in 1989 experienced what we call in the trade a "Brown trousers attack". Luckily this was all caught on tape. Edward was submitting a video for his Eggheads application, unknown to him, another house mate Sammy heard that Edward was talking to his computer and did the only thing any man should have done. He ran towards Edward's room and palmed his hand through the door in order to scare the victim while screaming the trademark "pterodactyl" noise. Watching a grown man battling instant fear never fails to entertain, in this sense it is a lot like watching women's volleyball.  Merry Christmas Edward!

Money can't buy happiness continued...

In protest to the post that stated that money is everything, this is the post that is mildly less sexist and is promoting the fact that there is bleach and liposuction for all those fat hairy women out there, but ironically they all cost money. Bit of a catch 22; but I will try my best for all my chewbacca look a like friends.

Admittedly the person that came up with brutally irrational idea that money cant buy happiness was a pre-menstruating woman. Or maybe a group of women, some kind of pre-menstrual focus group about their mutual hate of man. I'm in a serious catch 22.

Men and Women are very different breeds, and very different views on everything. We did a small survey and truly the answers speak for themselves.

Q. What are your thoughts about love?

Woman: Love is the most beauti.... (she went on and on, but you get the idea)
Male response was simply the movement of thrusting pelvis backwards and forwards, with little passion, it looked like a very violent gesture.

I would like to say that they are both right, but God says that lying is a sin.
-Love is the sound of your intercourse partner screaming like a stab victim.
-Love is high-fiving when you get an erection whilst above and beyond the drink drive limit.
-Love is baby oil.
-Love is dinner on the table when you arrive home.
-Love is accepting the awkwardness of the queef.
-Love is bare back upon such a regular basis, provoking pafing. (penis chafing)

This gives you the honest unbiassed truth about the bond between a man and a woman. And the easiest way to achieve for yourself and become truly happy is by purchasing a sex slave, keeping the reciept for an updated model in the future. All joking aside its important medium with your partner, one that will clean the dishes for a reasonable price; if you have done your research and feel that buying own is out of your price range then grow your own like Proffesor Fritzl. (honory proffesor awarded by scunthorp polytechnic a proffesor none the less)

Proffesor Fritzl, happy and on holiday in beijing.

Money can't buy happiness.

That's a lot of high class prostitutes right there.

Like fuck it cant. I have to say this was obviously stated by firstly.

A.)   A woman, because only something with a vagina could say something so outrageously wrong, I bet she wasn’t even in the kitchen when she said it. 

B.)    A woman who was not ridiculously rich.

And by saying this tries to make herself believe:

-She is happy with her abrasive toilet roll when she could have Aloe Vera licking up and down her overweight ass.

-She is happy with her small TV when she could be immersed in full on HD 3D lesbian porn with surround sound. (Just put an open can of tuna on the radiator while doing this and its like you are actually there).

-She is happy with her monobrow, sagging tits and thighs that chaff, when she could have a personal trainer, a beauty team and a high-grade surgeon.

-She can go on Holiday yet remain in the same country. No, no you cant that’s a trip, and a fucking lame one at that. Go fucking tear it up in Amsterdam or Vegas, go get a whole fucking team of strippers and midgets to follow you around all day clapping you when you take a shot, hi fiving you while you're pelvis deep in a Russian whore, and spanking you as you brush your teeth, that’s a fucking holiday.

-She can be happy with her lack of possessions. Hell no, I’m buying a fucking country and naming it “Suck my dick” so when people go there, they are going to Suck my dick. And the country I bought next door is called “Swallow and not complain”.

Hell, whoever said money can't buy happiness never looked into how much a giant slide going into a ball pit filled with weed costs. I am actually going to take this one step further and construct my own 7-floor bong in my 7-floor house with its own elevator and each floor button granting you a bong hit. The 7^th floor will just be called “Welcome to the Fucking Bong-O-Sphere Bitch”.

Jesus would have wanted it.

Now some people will argue with all this money you will distance yourself from real society and life and become completely absorbed in yourself and not care for others. Firstly, fuck you.  Secondly, I’m going on holiday ALL the fucking time, I’m going to every society and culture you can think of. I’m going to learn all kinds of shit, I’m going to do all kinds of shit. Then I’m going to give shit away, I’m going to go out there face to face with poverty stricken people and change their lives. Because I find in happiness in helping people and changing their lives for the better, I like to see everyone in any poverty stricken or third world country have clean water, food and education. And I’m going to think about the change I made to world as I’m doing a tequila shots off every single Victoria Secret Model.

Have you ever seen someone looking sad as they jet off into space to their space built party mansion in a spaceship shaped as Heidi Klum? No, no you haven’t and you never will because it is actually scientifically proven to be sad in that specific situation.

Have you ever seen someone looking sad as they arrive to a party riding a white stallion that has been fashioned with angel wings bearing a wingspan of 20 metres? No. You cant physically be unhappy with your life at that moment in time.

My fucking vehicle.

However despite my undeniable argument, people will still claim Love is the only way to happiness. Now the chance of finding your ‘Soulmate’ without leaving your own country is maybe 1 in never. However if I’m spreading my seeds worldwide I have no doubt, no doubt at all, I will find someone that is essentially Aphrodite but with a better sense of humour.

So don’t say stupid shit.

With great beer comes great irresponsibility

“There was nothing really as glorious as a good beer shit – I mean after drinking twenty or twenty-five beers the night before. The odour of a beer shit like that spread all around and stayed for a good hour-and-a-half. It made you realize that you were really alive.”-Charles Bukowski.

This beautiful quote provided me with the inspiration I needed that day. It was a Wednesday. My friend has just finished his medical exams. This called for a huge day of man celebration. A Broccasion.

The party is hosted at my house. The homemade beer pong table comes out and the drinking begins, it is 12 noon.

While we play beer pong a mixture of UFC and Madden drinking games begin behind us. Miles and I are dominating the table; the opening trick shots are getting more and more ridiculous as we become arrogant with our unbeaten streak. The drinking continues until 8pm. Miles and I have remained undefeated and now shouting in glory at our opponents. This is also the time that shit gets weird.

8:00pm: Having previously lost to Guy at UFC while he wore an oven glove I am punished with naked press-ups, not one to shy away from a challenge, I remove my clothes and begin doing press ups on the tarpaulin I have laid down in my lounge. Guy now pours two beers on my back and down my ass, encouraged with cheers. Homoerotic? Probably.

8:05pm: A random Canadian man has entered my house and begins partying with us. As party tax, we make him funnel two beers, mid funnel I realise, for some reason, I am holding a bottle of Miles’ piss. I see his Canadian face struggling beneath me as he finds it difficult to breathe while swallowing the beer; I think it is only fair to pour the whole bottle of piss into the top of the funnel.

International Bonding

Canada: Jeese guys, why was it warm?! It was so warm, like so warm. I can taste piss.

8:06pm: Britain 1-0 Canada. People are now pissing inside my house against the walls.

Me: Guys that is inside my house! Why are you not outside??!

Friends: But it feels like we are outside!

8:07pm: My fire alarm is now going off as one friend begins passing out cigars.

8:08pm: Pat runs in with photos on his phone of the vomit he just shared with my doorstep. I decide it is time to leave my house before it gets worse. I call a bunch of taxis and manage to get everyone in as we head for the club.

8:15pm: We arrive at Live Lounge, at this early hour only one or two other people are here. We head to the bar and through shouting, we manage to be informed shots are £1 and cocktails are 2 for 1. This is dangerous.

8:25pm: We are thrown out of Live lounge for reasons ranging from abusive jokes  to forming a full scale fight with the ice from our cocktails.

8:40pm: On arrival at the next club, one friend is too drunk to be allowed in. He now walks the streets of Cardiff alone for a few hours.

8:43pm: Inside the club I am happy with the talent. I look at my phone one or two hours later to find I have 12 missed calls from Marc. Marc rings as I am looking at my phone so I pick up and shout, “I don’t know what you are saying!! I am at the downstairs bar at the back!!” and hang up.

12.05pm: I now get a call from Guy who is standing outside the club in the pouring rain asking why I am not outside. I have no explanation for why he is outside. I go out to meet him and as we try to re-enter we are told we have to pay again. I am not paying again. Instead we wait outside; it is not long before two girls with umbrellas arrive, so we tag along. Then Marc calls again.

Me: MARC!!

Nurse Claire: Hi this is Nurse Claire, your friend has sustained a serious head injury, and we need somebody sober to come pick him up. Are you sober?

Me: Nurse Claire, I am fairly sober but I have two girls with me right now.

Nurse Claire: You have to be serious; if you do not come to pick him up he will have to stay the night.

Me: I shall be there as soon as I can Nursey Clairey.

12:35pm: True to my word, I ditch the girls and after realising I don’t have money for the taxi I begin to run. Guy accompanies me until we get to his house behind the union. In drunk fear for my friend I continue the 3-mile run, the rain has now become a small monsoon and I am getting ferociously warm. Realising I am sweating and have to wear this shirt out again in 2 days, I remove it. Now running topless down the middle of the roads I am repeatedly called by Marc asking where I am.

Unknown time: Finally I see A&E ahead of me. I run in to glaring eyes that must be wondering what the soaking wet topless man is doing. I ask the receptionist where my friend is. I dash around the corner and see Marc! I also see doctors and police who instantly tell me I am not sober. I straight up disagree with them.  After long discussion and some persuasion while Marc tries hugging every nurse they let me take him home with a leaflet about brain damage.

It turns out Marc was hit by a car. The friend I mentioned who did not make it into the club joined him in the ambulance, arrived in the hospital and then walked back into the town centre to party. Safe to say this was a great night. The blood from Marc's head remains on my pillow to remind me of how to FSU.

I feel sorry for people who don't drink. When they wake up in the morning, that's as good as they're going to feel all day.

The Fungal Infection

Whilst in Amsterdam, my travelling partner (Rhod) and myself encountered some very charming American chaps, this was to be the beginning of the most influential peer pressure of my life. After smoking 2 joints with the self acclaimed connoisseurs of the sweet mary jane, the americans (quite easily) convinced us that Magic mushrooms combined with House of Bols was the ultimate day out.

"you have to do it, it's the ultimate day out!" USA

This comment was one of many they said that night, I heard a lot but responded to little as I was silenced by the weed...

******

The next morning was welcomed with excitement, stirred up with anxiety and peppered with black spots of the night previous. Rhod and I had committed to one thing, and that was to rent bikes and we did; the bikes allowed us to take in all of Amsterdam's sights, sounds and culture. 

It was not long before we saw what could only be described as the "dutch delicatessen" in the shop window, it wasn't Anne Franks diary or even a snipping of her hair. It was a little takeaway box with truffles of magic inside. We made the transaction, and pursued the rest of our adventure.

Upon arrival at the museum, we were nervous, but the best thing about having peers is that you copy each other, I sampled a small bite, as did my partner, we both pulled faces of absolute disgust.

One of the black spots cleared... "make sure you have them with food because they taste like shit!"

Rhod and I browsed the local outlets, and what better than waffles and ice-cream dusted with mushrooms. These were quickly consumed ... and now we wait.

In the half an hour that passed we looked at the Van Gough museum, but felt it wasn't worth the price. Still no effect. Upon entering the House of Bols still no effect, but little were we to know that the next 12 hours of our lives were going to be as far-fetched as they were.

The House of Bols was interesting to a normal mushroom free human being (would take approx 20 mins to go round the whole place), but when you have a super power it takes minimum 2 hours plus one hour looking at the brass pipes at the end.

"if you just look, you can see so much"

I was regularly tricked by the optical illusion (art) that lay on the walls, after finding 10mm x 10mm president lincoln imprinted on those darn brass pipes it was time to leave.....

TO BE CONTINUED...

I'm not going to lie about it, the House of Bols was a 2 hour long mindfuck. Within 10 minutes I was suffering from a nosebleed due to placing scented tubes that far up my nose. Despite the constant confusion, laughter and delight it was not until the finale that shit got real. The final room contained a collection of brass pipes and bowls, Dan and I really took to this room. One bowl in particular had caught my eye, therefore it was only sensible to stare directly at it for 40 minutes. This is the bowl that i did indeed see Abraham Lincoln in, looking at me in all his glory. I did in fact draw his face (only in straight vertical lines, no explanation) but at least we have evidence of my vision.

"I will fuck you in the mind"

On leaving things turned from happiness to near death, the kind of fear that makes you want to shit yourself and then hide in that shit. Dan and I unlocked our bikes, not an easy task when deeply shroomed, we then began the 15 minute ride back to our hostel. This is how shit went down.

How Rhod spent his ride: The entire journey was hell, the cobbles, which were fucking everywhere by the way, were shaking my bike, my handlebar grip was constantly being questioned, no matter what I did the cobbles were fucking with me. Then to make things more fun, fucking cars were fucking with me. Never drive within 20 metres of a man riding a bike on cobbles when he has taken mushrooms, never, you sick Dutch motherfuckers!! So as I am getting metaphorically raped with fear of death by constantly avoiding cars, obstacles and still trying to remember the road back I am tormented by the ridiculously loud laughter of Dan behind me.

How Dan spent his ride: Fucking laughing. That's all he did, I was trying to keep my shit together at the front, arguably like a little crying bitch, yet Dan found the whole experience inexplicably funny. I can still here his manly giggles now. (I often think of these giggles while pelvis deep in vagina).

We  arrive back at the hostel and begin to lock our bikes back up, it only takes me a mere 5 minutes or so (yes that is a fairly embarrassing time). However Dan takes all the glory here as he racks up 30 minutes of trying to chain his bike up. He calls for help several times but I am still worried about the cobbles and I just cant deal with that shit right now, so instead I wait patiently at the door, 5 metres away from Dan for the whole duration.

Now you're probably thinking, did they just go to bed? What happened next?! Can I have a threesome with these guys?? Can I at least suck their dicks for 35 minutes and not  neglect the balls? Well I will tell you what happened next. This may change the way you look at hatch windows so prepare yourself. Dan and I arrive back into our rooms to meet our two new male room mates from Australia sharing the other bunk bed in the room. After quickly introducing ourselves I declare to the room I need to take a shit.

Rhod: "I NEED TO TAKE A SHIT."

And this is what I do. No not in the toilet, the toilet is for mere mortals! I survey the room and find a sturdy hatch window that opens into our room just above average anus height. I open the window and perch myself just above this window pane, Dan begins laughing while the two Australians just stare blankly at me, wondering if I was recently released from a care home. They begin questioning my judgement.

Australia: Dude, you're not going to actually do this are you? Dude don't shit on our window, what have you guys taken?!

Well fuck you Australia, I would shit on a kangaroo if I had one. I drop the bomb, thankfully a solid pint full onto the window, I lower myself down and slam the window shut letting my evidence fly into the street and rest there until morning.

It is at this point the Australians begin ringing their friends from home exclaiming how one of their room mates just took a shit on their window. Dan has now turned his laughter into tears of happiness at my bowel movements. However that does not last long as soon after, while in bed, he begins believing his socks are attacking him and have grown into full on rape socks.

The morale of the story: Stay in School kids. But when you leave FSU and take mushrooms.

A simple post.

Frequently, I find myself masturbating 3 days worth in one hit, often 3 days of tension and congestion, and this build up of semen traffic must be relieved. 

As the pressure, I like to call astronautic testicular pressure, reaches an all time high, the eruption is often beyond my expectation, causing a reaction called come-fucked. This is where any garment; you or your friends around you are wearing becomes engulfed in a glaze of come. Making that garment come-fucked and unwearable.

Note: Beware of masturbating clothed before a night out, lets be honest, it happens to the best of us.

How to Fuck Shit Up

I know what you’re thinking, you’re thinking how can I fuck shit up tonight? I want to fuck shit up. I want to have some crazy story to tell the nurse when I wake up in hospital. Well fear not, for here are some guidelines, notes and tips.

Step one: Abbreviate fuck shit up for “FSU” and when people ask you want you’re doing later, aggressively shout “FSU” at them while making eye contact. When they ask what this means or if you are okay, reply, “I’m going to fuck shit up”.

Step two: Prepare yourself to fuck shit up.

- Start tugging one off to some dirty porn, but don’t finish. Just leave your body filled up with hormones and sexual tension.

-Lift some weights, do this naked and in front of a mirror.

-Eat a manly dinner consisting of at least 3 different types of meat.

-Burn some stuff to prove to everyone you are master of the fire element.

-Don’t shower, keep it musky.

Step 3: Pre drink. Jesus liked his wine and so should you. But instead of pussy wine choose something more brutal. Pre drinks should begin at 7 and last until 11.

-Begin playing games such as “Arrogance”-Sit in a circle with a large vessel in the middle. Pour your chosen amount of beverage into the vessel and flip a coin, get the call right and you don’t drink, the next person then pours their drink in and flips the coin etc. If you get the call wrong however you must down the built up amount of beverage. Be a dick and use straight vodka as your pre drink, whether you bought it or not.

-Edward cider hands can be performed during arrogance for maximum man points.

-Dead Man’s Walk- Buy a large drink, usually cider based from a local shop. For every two steps back to your house, drink a mouthful.

-If feeling brave, perform Tequila Challenge.

-Don’t stop pre drinking until you start swaying when you pee, you become aggressively loud, you have broken something of value to someone, people are commenting on how drunk you are, nudity is involved, you publicly declare how fertile you are.

Step 4: Make it to your destination. This is vital to Fucking Shit Up. You must barge your way into the taxi, letting girls in first is for homosexuals and people who don’t get enough sex. If needs be, run there. Be it a club or pub. You must then perform 5 seconds of your best sober act to the bouncer, make eye contact but remain silent. Now once inside declare “IM GOING TO FUCK SHIT UP! I WONT APOLOGISE FOR BEING THIS AWESOME.”

Step 5: Begin to Fuck Shit Up. Order a line of shots. Tell the barmaid you are having an operation tomorrow, when she asks what for shout, “I need a dick reduction.”

Finish the shots and get some double vodkas in. Double fist these bad boys. If anybody challenges you to a downing contest, be it a standard drink or a strawpedo, accept the challenge and win.

Step 6: Continue to Fuck Shit Up. Force people to buy you drinks. When pissing, describe your penis in detail to those next to you. Don’t feel you have to piss in the urinal, begin to see this as optional. Begin to set aims for yourself, for example: I want to get on the stage and remain up there for 60 seconds minimum, I want to pull at least 5 girls in before midnight, I want to get a photo of me bumming the DJ, I want to try and initiate a threesome. Now perform all of your goals.

Step 7: Really raise the bar now. Take it to another level. Take no responsibility for your actions. Ignore the law. Ignore people’s advice. I cannot give you instructions for the final part of your night, this you must find within yourself, on completion of your goals you should have a sense of accomplishment and confidence that anything is possible. Use this to fuel your actions. Finally, aim to sleep somewhere impressive.

Step 8: Wake up, whether you are in hospital, another person’s bathroom, in an industrial bin, in the police station, on a rooftop, in a different country, under a car, in a garden, in a tree, inside the grounds of a nursery, at the zoo, on a roundabout or even in a moving vehicle driven by a Thai family who speak no English. Once awake try and remember what happened and document it.

Step 9: Repeat steps 1-8.