Extremists & Zebra Whores

Well it's been an uneventful week apart from the odd terrorist attack and two harebrained lunatrons lunging through the check-in door at Glasgow Airport shouting "Allah". Tut tut. One got par-grilled in the process which won't do him any favours when he gets to the prison gym. It can't all be to do with the profligacy of the West and sluty women wearing Gucci glasses instead of eh, those face curtains. What makes these Babylonian mud-monsters so impractically angry? There's obviously bog all chance of those government-funded left wing organisations who try so hard to be conciliatory with extremists, getting through. Of course it would be unlike me to suggest something right wing, but there are still a few unpopulated areas of the planet that could be used as deportation hubs; parts of Siberia, Borneo or deforested patches of the Amazon where crazed killers could relocate and rip one another's skin off. And as women are so hated, they wouldn't have to breed anymore and could arse around, shrieking at the sky, and eventually a meteorite might come. Back in the civilised world, I'm trying to rid the last of my work so that I can get down to business with this book as publisher person wants to rendevous in late July. After many months of lethargy and farting green lentils, I am ready to get stuck in. There's also another 'biog' book on the cards too, so I'm off the booze and trying to ditch the soap operas. Recent episodes of Eastenders might just be the antidote as Dawn, in the midst of giving birth, hollered out: "I'm guffawing like a bison", so really whichever script writer is on crack cocaine should get hauled out and forced to continue working life in a London Underground coffee kiosk. That, and the fact that Dawn's newborn baby was sitting up with its eyes open and smiling, at two days old. There has to be some accountability for paying a TV license fee. Add to this Charley from Big Brother puking into a bucket on TV tonight and I'm ready to unplug the TV for a minimum of six months and take up reading again after a break of 10 years. The weather has been delightfully shit which keeps the cider-spides in their holes even if the global warming goblins are claiming it as a coup d'état, proof that the fragility of the planet isn't just a biblical conjecture. Either way, I don't mind. Rainy nights in bed are always welcome, even moreso if I'm not alone. Today, munching my toasted tuna sambo in Clements I was deeply disturbed by a picture in the Irish Times of a hybrid horse/zebra yoke that looked too insane to be true. Apparently it was an 'unplanned' rendevous but a white horse with a zebra head made me feel markedly unsafe in the world. How can I go ahead and have a child when there's equine perverts sharing the same airspace? My mate Anita, aka 'lesbian with the lump' still hasn't been to the doctor and I found out today via an amiable transexual friend of ours that she's had stomach pains for three years and the 'lump' is spreading like a forest fire. I'm deeply disturbed by the fact that she's so in denial and/or too scared to go to a doctor, so I've invited her to Belfast for the weekend in two week's time. She thinks she's coming here for an unscrupulous weekend of cocktails (minus the cock of course), but I'm going to do her head in to drive the message through. I've already been to one close mate's funeral this year that rattled my world and I certainly don't want to see another friend submerged in clay four decades too soon. It's been a bizarre year that way in that I know or have heard of a fair few young people falling seriously ill. It makes no sense considering my parent's generation who lacked even basic nutrition throughout the war years and went on to delight in bad marriages, decades of chain smoking and guzzling fat from cow's arses, live on till they look like extras out of MJs Thriller video. On that note, I am off to the mock 4-poster for some Zzzzzzzzzzzzzs.