Today, I am...

ILL.

I don't want to be, I have no work to attend or school to moan about, I am just a glum sick bum.

It gives me time to think about thinking though.

I'll try to keep you posted about that.

Adios, trolls.

David Bowietry

I've been a big fan of the Thin White Duke possibly since I was 13 and from there onwards my rock and roll teen angst really shot off but couldn't quite make the picket fence jump to become a full-on gothic creature.

But I still want a snake-bite piercing in my lip.

I owned bits and bobs that shouted out emo-ish statements, like odd ripped leather boots and a Kurt Cobain trademark red and black stripe shirt and outlandish fitted coats and too many hoodies and shirts with pretty looking skulls printed on them back in the day - I wore things that most of my Perkistanki friends considered a fashion felony, but funnily enough as soon as High Street shops began to sell them, those same girls were on that trend like a couple of fat girls starved of cake. They know who they are, they read this blog quite often. Bunch of tarts too - they don't mind me mentioning *ahem ahem*

David Bowie's music had done most of the transforming into what made up my music taste and how I wore my clothes and came about interpreting life (other more important things have since helped me see thing differently - religion).

Before Ziggy made an influence, System of A Down were around to assault my ears with some of the most essentially true to-the-point statements about America's war on drugs, worldwide genocide and whose shit stank better. Better than hearing about why Rihanna wants to hear her name and being just a promiscuous glory whore for children to be indoctrinated and poisoned by her whack crud music.

Songs like Oh! You Pretty Things, Golden Years, Heroes, Suffragette City,  Under Pressure, Ashes to Ashes - Bowie's voice is the same but the music was pretty 

But enough digressing for I should introduce a , he's hot. LOOK AT THIS HANDSOME MAN - he's 64 now and he still looks devilishly good and phwoarrrr, have you seen his wife?!

He's taken on so many looks and he's looks great in every get-up. Okay, enough swooning. Watch how he excites the audience one of his best hits, 'Heroes' (Heroes 1977)

Deadlines dead, Blog Neglected

Yesterday (or the day before, I cannae remember), I finished my second year of university with a gruelling exam on law and public administration. But I can't taste the success cause my tongue is numb with the overuse of profane language and my throat is lined with sandpaper, developed from drinking and snorting OUT coke all night. Yes, 'snorting out' - the gas that builds up and kinda sneezes and shoots out from your nostrils all the while burning those tiny hairs. It's excruciating as fa-heck.

It's the worst thing that can happen to you at 4am when you're in danger of waking up the household. And when you have the uncontrollable urge to go to the toilet every 20 minutes from all the sugary carbonated fluid, you're also worried about falling asleep whilst doing the business. The way of the student, unfortunately.

I feel I must give you advice. For I feel a little superior, and I feel I must share valuable information that you may already know, but must be told again for no apparent reason. So here it is:

For you newbies hoping to do all nighters before the hand-in date for work that may define whether you gain a first, a 2:1 or just whatever - DON'T LEAVE ANYTHING TIL THE END UNLESS YOU'RE NOTE-PREPARED.

Notes are important; without them in the university world, you are nothing. They are revision, they are key reminders to knowledge you may temporarily forget.

Choose to not use them, and you will be heart-broken by what happens afterwards. Let's set the scene:

You're at the front door of your home. The post arrives. You see your results, and then you die a little as you open it.

Your body will become as weak as that of a feeble insect and you will be crushed by your insecurities when you see one-digit marks for exams and red coloured Fs for your assessments. Your parents will loom over your shoulder and you'll feel the hot lick of shame roll down your back and all those little hairs your wax or thread couldn't pull or pluck from your face will prick up and make your face look like a shaved asshole. That's cause your mouth is formed into a tiny grey lipped 'O'.

You're told by your dad to look at him, he says 'Look at me right now, betah.'

The heat at this time will be overbearing now and it will billow up around your furiously crimson ears. There's a buzzing sound in your ears and your eyes are blurry with some alien vibration; a fist is punching you inside your mouth but you know it's your heart doing treble leaps to jump ship from this skin tube that's been abused with copious amounts of high caffeinated drinks

and when you feel that 'Thwack' across the nape of your neck and you're suddenly on a plane to your parent's village in Pakistan as their version of rehab, where you'll sit among human cows and milk flinching udders from buffalos and your English will have that tightened ethnic sound whenever you mention anything with a T - in other words, you'd know you've either fecked up or you're living in a constant holiday. But that honeymoon period can only last for so long...

Okay, I've done some tattle-telling. That last bit doesn't happen. To me, anyway. And if anything, my plane will go to Mexico City...

Did I ever mention I was half-Mexican? I'm not. That's probably why I haven't ever mentioned it.

Didn't that throw you off for a second? Amusing. Very mildly amusing, this digression.

Going back to tips for revision - take your make-up off at night. Unless you're planning to be an late-night adult clown entertainer, clean that shit off. It's not good for your skin when you're resting, that foundation will find its way into your pores and make acne babies. And those babies like to make babies with babies, you know what I'm saying? Multiplying like they're mathematicians, them bacteria do. You want to look like a flaky chav? It's like sleeping with mice faeces on your face, in other words.

I cannae prepare you for the dangers you face from Asian parents; each one reacts differently with each grade. I know all of them say 'Mr. so-and-so's son got a 1st, why is it that you-oo-oo have a two-oo-oo two-oo-oo?'

So good luck to all of you, and I until I have any more shit to say, adios amigos!

Since When Did Fat Chicks Become Nudists in Public?

Ew. I've seen more than I've wanted to these last few weeks on the streets of merry ole' England. My recent memory is of slabs of pasty skin rolling over a spotted chunk of badly tanned skin, falling out from underneath a very uncapable vest. Poor Primark vest. You did not deserve such a big boned owner.

The girl was probably no older than 12 and she looked like the unfortunate lovechild of Mr. Blobby and Heather from Eastenders. Her mother on the other hand, looked starved in her tracksuit and goldy-lookin' chains. She even had those pitiful sallow eyes that stared at you pitifully, like that of an abused skurvy greyhound.

It's a cruel world, and I blame the big fatties. And by fatties, I mean the lardie bums who think every air hole is a pie hole - not the blunt smokin' glory that makes this world a little easier to bear. Would you rather the world suffocated on billowing human flesh or jukin' blunts? Well if you say 'human flesh', you can shoot yourself.