Now here’s an interesting thing.
If you go to http://andysglasses.com/ and scroll down to the bottom there’s a ‘subscribe’ thingy. And if you put your email address in there you get a notification when new blogs are posted. So you, er, won’t miss anything, errr, like, errr, really important.
Its so easy. A child of 5 could do it.
Don’t have a child of 5?
Go to vicar@catholic.org and he’ll probably have a spare.
Happy wednesday night. Even though there’s no football
A xxxx
That’s it, finished, over, done and dusted, the end of the line, been and gone, no more tomorrows.
Because this is the last of my daily emails you’re ever going to receive. I’m done, I’m over it, I’m moving on.
But don’t fret, don’t panic, stop your sobbing, put the razor down, life WILL still be worth living, I promise you. (Unless you’re a Sunderland fan, in which case, go for it.)
I’m going national.
No, international.
Viral.
Supersonic.
I have a blog site. An official site just so I can rant at the world. As I do. So rather than your daily post, instead you’ll go to http://andysglasses.com/ and there it will be. Just like before but with pretty pictures. Ok, pictures of me, so not so pretty but pretty damned gorgeous anyway.
And the first 50 people to log on get…
absolutely fuck all. As do the next 50 and the 250 after them.
The 351st will probably get a virus that’ll eat away their hard drive or their testicles.
But by doing it this way I can get rich. Really really really rich. Through advertising. Its easy. Once I have 28 million followers they’ll be lining up to post their ads. I’ve already been asked about the potential demographic of my readers.
‘Losers’, was the answer I gave. Whereas we really want ABC 1s, what I can offer is XYZ 23s. So I’m hoping for a lot of interest from companies making anti-depressants and viagra, self-help agencies, personality improvement therapists, personality acquisition therapists, gender reassignment companies, debt management, weightwatchers, Scientologists, incontinence pants, ugly pills, breath fresheners, The Moonies, tv-dinners and athlete’s foot powder. For Arsenal fans, sadly, there is no cure.
And you can help. In fact you must help. This is what you do. Tell a friend to visit my site. Oh, surely you must have ONE? Ok, then tell someone on the bus to work, tell the woman in the soup kitchen, tell the clerk in the bank, tell your cosmetic surgeon, tell the telesales person from Bombay that he must log on, RRRIIIIIIIIGHGHTT?
Send the link to your pals, your football team, your auntie in Bolivia, cousin in Luton, anyone who you think might appreciate a morning’s worth of abuse, insult and insanity.
Don’t over-sell it. Just tell them you can offer a portal that will change their lives FOREVER!!!
I can’t make the world a happier place all by myself, I need the population of China to help me. So we’re working a translation facility. Though spelling ‘muthafucka’ in Chinese is causing minor problems. And there’s no word in Xosa for ‘holding midfielder’, but we’ll get by.
And don’t just go and read and piss off again, as if you have anything better to do. Leave comments, send tweets, facebook your, er, faces, do everything possible to make my life better than might otherwise be.
So farewell to ‘the old way’ and bring on the new. Tomorrow is the first day of the rest of your life.
Happy wednesday
xxxx
You know the phrase ‘an accident waiting to happen’ (which Mel often uses in what is quite frankly a cruel reference to my at times slightly clumsy side, though admittedly she is often the recipient of such klutzy events and bears many a scar), anyway, Lauren Booth was a ‘Muslim waiting to happen’.
Lauren is the sister of Cherie, who is the wife of Tony Blair. Ohhhh, Lauren Booth.
She was divorced from her old hubby and wanted a new one. A muslim one. I have no idea why either, but I’m not a religious person. And if I was I’d probably use my own rather than go looking for someone else’s. But that’s just me.
She in fact advertised for the ‘role’ and in time found her man. Ok, he was married with 3 kids at the time but heh, this is about religious fervour, this is the ‘will of God’, and will not be denied. Not for mere decency or morality.
She immediately took to wearing a headscarf, which, if you’ll forgive me, always looks rather odd on Caucasians, but there ya go.
And now her daughters from her first marriage wear the hijab too. And its all about comfort.
Her girls were ‘uncomfortable’ with 10 year-old schoolgirl talk of boys and pop idols and relationships and dildos and group sex with animals and the usual pre-teeny stuff, so now attend a muslim school, wear a scarf and are thus protected from such discomfort. The scarf presumably works like some kind of holy filter on conversations. The question as to whether it might be acceptable for little girls to ‘lurve’ Ryan Gosling and Harry Styles and David Cassidy and me is not relevant. So stick on a headscarf and achieve instant comfort.
Brilliant.
But what about the Muslim clerics (18 of them thus far) who agreed to marry 14 year old girls to much older men even in what can only be described as ‘forced marriages’? How ‘bout them? Does Lauren reckon that might make those children more comfortable too?
Or how about the great new law just passed in Iran which now allows children to marry their step-fathers. How’s that on the comfort scale??
It is argued that rather than a sign of oppression, the scarves and veils are actually about freedom, about feminism.
Feminism my nob!
But who needs all that shit. When you can go to Wales.
What a fantastic place Wales is. See the pic. Wales is all like that. Just brilliant. So now I no longer have to ask the question ‘what is Wales for?’ because I know. Its not just a place to provide singers and rugby players and third rate football teams, nor just a place where man and sheep can live in harmony, nor just for the production of coal as Maggie shut the pits decades ago. Wales is a thing of extreme beauty. And the Welsh, for a bunch of foreigners, are really friendly people who live in proper houses and everything. Like real people. I would recommend it but then it’d be full of scuzzy seasiders next time we go instead of quiet and peaceful and wonderful.
Happy tuesday
A xxxx
I’m a ‘good jew’. Because I go to shul. On Rosh Hashanna AND Yom Kippur. Both days. I make sacrifice for my religion. I don’t play tennis. I give up the ‘never shower and shave on saturday morning’ rule for the day. I don’t eat for fu- for heaven’s sake. For 25 hours. Holy moly. That’s serious. But the starvation is not a punishment. Then we’d be Catholics. They punish, they beat, flagellate, rip their own flesh and repent. Boy do they repent. But they have a lot to repent for, generally. And because we live in a predominantly Christian society we’re tapped into that form of culture in which you sin, you have to repent. With blood. Or suffering. Or for really serious stuff; just a few ‘hail marys will do’. – Read More –
There’s just way too much time around and not enough sport to fill it. We need more. And I don’t mean, like, ‘playing it’. Heaven forbid. Sport’s not for playing, its for watching whilst eating loads of crap. So what do you do on a Sunday after the 1.30 and 4pm football, before the 7o’clock from Spain followed by NFL double-header taking you til 4 the next morning? There’s a whole half an hour when I get fretful.
Its a time for possibly cooking something. Or running round to the off license for supplies. But both of those involve, kind of, ‘getting up’ off the sofa, thus they’re not real sport. Real sport NEVER involves any movement beyond the remote control. That’s the rule. From the international federation of sports watchers and other fat bastards.
A new Woody Allen movie is a big event. I don’t care what you think. Its big. Even though there’s one every year and has been since Bananas in about 1657. When Woody was just 12 and still married to his sixth wife’s god-daughter’s neice. The man’s love life has been almost as erratic as his films. But I’ll always see them. I have to. I’m driven. Possessed. According to drug addicts, the first hit of heroin is such an incredible high that you spend the next 30 years trying to get it back. Well as a Woody addict, my first movie, and I can’t remember whether it was Play it again, Sam, or Bananas, or Take the Money and Run, was just such a ‘hit’, a ‘high’, such a drug, such a fantastic experience that I’ve spent the last 40 years trying to relive it.
“Ere!!!!!” shouted the schoolboy across the playground, “did’joo call my mum a slag???”.
“No”, replied the spokesman from the Daily Mail, “I just called yer dad a frikkin traitor!”
Now pay careful attention because the next sentence is something rare, something dear, something to be kept for posterity, because it’ll never be writ again:*****Ed Milliband was right. ******Wow.Its a tough contest between who is more hateful; the leader of the opposition party, the hapless, left-leaning lummox, or the Daily Mail, bastion of the right wing, so staunchly conservative and Conservative that its now just finding its true new home with UKIP, the views of which concur with that newspaper’s own dreams in a reactionary, xenophobic and overly nationalistic style. The (nominal) Conservative Party is currently insufficiently conservative for most of the Mail’s views.So when, raking through Milliband’s father’s diaries, written when the man was 17 years old, before Ed was even a flicker of his imagination, before either Wallace or Grommit was born, they found a comment which said how ‘I sometimes think it would be better if England lost the war…’
Those canny Welsh have pipped us at the post. Again. Not only did they win the ‘most alcoholics as a percentage of population (not including sheep)’category in the olympics, then topped it with ‘most Welsh-speakers anywhere in the world’, but now they’ve declared first in the ‘Cities fit to Cycle’ campaign initiative. Its about pledging cycle and walking paths to encourage people to, er, well, er, walk and cycle more for small, city journeys rather than fire up the Ferrari to pop to Tescos for a pint’a milk or catch a flight to the bookie shop on the corner to put a fiver each way on Craig Bellamy’s next goal.
I love women. Always have.Not just the way they look and feel, but the very fact that they’re simply different. If they didn’t exist I’d have to invent one. Or at least buy a blow-up one. But the differences are way beyond the physical, way beyond anything that could be represented in mere vinyl. They’re different psychologically, physiologically, hormonally, temperamentally and logically. Or illogically sometimes.Natalie Portman is a wonderful woman. Actress. And mother. Or mutha. Whatever.And she reckons that Hollywood has it all wrong when it tries to depict ‘strong women’ in ‘feminist movies’. Because they’re stuck in that ‘Lara Croft’ mode in which a ‘strong woman’ is one who can kick the shit out of 10 armed men without smudging her mascara. A woman who is stunning, pneumatic, brilliant, beautiful, courageous, dangerous but never bigger than a size 12.Is that ‘a feminist’? Is feminism about the ability to beat the shit out of men? Odd, I thought it was about living in peaceful, harmonious equality.Man and his main bitch in glorious egalitarianism. Which is a suburb of Watford.