Warning, this article contains a graphic reference to a hippo rape and the murder of a parrot.
Human beings are strange creatures, some see us as the stardust sprinkled children of god, some as the super evolved self titled kings of planet earth, and some, including me, the distant offspring of an alien gang raped ape (see previous blog) and we the deserted half star children are frantically trying to invent things like the ipad and email so we can communicate with our great space fathers and get some long over due backdated child support and get off this shit hole, that doesn't feel like home, most animals hate us.
Regardless of your beliefs on the above, the fact is, that humans have some pretty special skills above those of animals, such as dexterity of the hands, being able to open a tin of Heinz big soup, let-alone the ability to invent and manufacture tin openers, the delicate touch of being able to glance through the pages of a rare marvel comic, or mint conditions copy of readers wives from 1986, the one with the horrid bullseye contestant looking woman with the sopping bedraggled odd sized tits, Gene Wilder perm, and gaping vagina that looked like a bearded Mick Hucknell vomiting up a large Friday night kebab, the kind of woman that stunts your sexual development, and the kind of stunt Evil Kenevil would have run away from.
The power in ones hands to come home from a night out, call the wife a cunt, smash a perfectly lovely house in Cheam to worthless bits and then punch her in the stomach with almost surgical accuracy to not leave any bruising, all while holding a can of Heineken in the other hand and not spilling a drop. The masterful feather touch to be able to create masterpieces of art, such as that, erm, view of the bridge in the garden with the flowers and stuff, and the other one, the view of the castle with the odds and sods and clouds in the background and countless other unforgettable art works.
The ability and intelligence to masterfully deceive seemingly intelligent people, for example Tracey Emin, for whom every intake of breath she takes deprives a starving African child of life, and I expect, causes a landslide in a part of Bangladesh.
With technology we have started to turn our backs on our natural senses. Our sight, men are fooled by the pearly glow of fake white teeth, the sweaty night club glistening from swollen silicon tits and the seemingly healthy glow from an otherwise dreadful parchment like skin, and the general fakery that woman have to use in order to fulfill their seemingly endless need to have the semen of cretins fired all over their said fake appendages like a creamy party popper.
Our smell, the invention of perfumes to cover up the natural hormonal attraction. 48 hour deodorants, who doesn't shower for 48 hours thats not so homeless that superdrugs wouldn't even let them through the door lest peruse the various smellies? Various ointments and creams for women to disguise natures warning signs to men, such as the smell of a fish mongers on a hot summer day that should tell you that, “under no circumstances should this pungent prick pitta be entered. (Oy you misogynistic cunt) (wait a sec, men's bits undoubtedly stink, its just that men are not so reproductively aware, and girls will suck anything, so back off bitch (im joking).
Taste, it is now possible to eat a turd thanks to the invention of Encona Hot Pepper Sauce.
Touch, I don't really know what to say about touch, only that the blind girl in the hello video was so about to go down and suck off that clay Lionel Richie head, such was its accuracy, silly bitch.
So, the next time you wake up in bed next to Michelle McManus on a Saturday morning with the smell of chip fat and way out of date haddock, blame all of the above, your sensual laziness caused by the various camouflages described.
Outside of the base senses, we have others that we no longer understand, in part because we simply don't need to. The ability to detect when a Lion is coming up behind you, triggering an adrenaline rush so powerful, that for a few moments you can run like Usain Bolt, fight like Bruce Lee, and climb like spiderman. We still get these huge rushes of adrenaline, but its usually for something shit like getting a massive bollocking at work, and not knowing if you are going to have a job in the morning, in this case the adrenaline giving you the power to quiver like a jelly, cry like a little bitch, and fight like a butterfly soaked in ghee. This is medically referred to as a panic attack.
Sixth sense. Deep down all humans are connected via a mysterious network of “shit that we don't understand” we have an inbuilt ability to just know when those closest to us are in dire straights, and from any given point, and out of nowhere, we can just seem to appear and save the day, sadly, we are usually to busy to answer these psychic emergency calls, and more than likely the brain signal for these is probably being interfered with by todays mobile phones and other connected gadgets and pointless gizmos. What probably happens now is a next of kin sends a signal to the house is on fire and they are asleep upstairs, we start to pick it up, and instead mentally intercept a bogus text message about being entitled to claim for an accident, meanwhile, the relative bubbles and cracks away in a desperately horrible house fire like a drunk cooking the meat on a cheap BBQ.
Despite not actually ever being able to properly see, or smell our sexual partners, we still have a secret weapon in the war of knowing whether you are with the right person, the gut feeling. Gut feeling is exactly what it says on the tin, the tin in this instance being your most likely flabby sagging toneless paunch, the unsettling feeling that something just isn't quite right. You try but you cant quite put your finger on it. Most of the time you don't act on this, and you then find out that your partner has been having a 6 month affair with a top race horse, in hind-site you've seen the hoof marks on the carpet, but you've put it down to signs of good luck, you come home one day to a harsh nasal neighing and walk into see a huge equine penis thrashing in and out of your once lovely girlfriend/wife/partner like a veiny fleshy pile driver. Added to this, the jockey is round the front having a nervous but flowing piss on her hair, it turns out, she was into this.
Gut feeling is by no means a safe bet, you could well have just seen the signs, lack of interest, change of clothes, attitude, the fucking smell of a recently sexed horse. The gut feeling can also get you into a whole heap of trouble. You have met a girl, a feisty zesty girl that you would have thought was out of your league, things are going really well, yet deep down inside the horrid burning knotting feeling in your stomach hurts your every moment apart, you've been burnt before and this feels exactly the same, there are no hoof marks on the carpet, but could it be that the adulterous stead has found a way to wear a trainer or boot? You cant talk, the worlds bottle neck in your throat like that Mexican Bandits cancer warning off the cigarette packet. She isn't acting differently, but this feeling in your gut is taking you over, so one day you sit her down and you just do it, rather than risk the humiliation of walking in to a better cock up her, you just call it a day, she cries and asks why, you just tell her its your gut feeling. She tries to talk you round but there is nothing she can do. She leaves and you are sad because you are going to miss her blow jobs, cumming on her tits and back, the fact that she is willing to do a2m, and also her company..You are sad, but the feeling in your gut reassures you that you did the right thing, it doesn't feel quite right though, and its at this moment that you realise that your gut feeling was actually just trapped wind, you let out a fart that sounds like a weird Barry White/duck hybrid stubbing its webbed foot on sideboard on a winters day. So, because of your so called gut feeling, you are left in a room with a huge fart that is so pungent that it actually forms a human shape that sits starting at you, tutting and slowly shaking its head, finally writing the word cunt in the wall in a light faecal colour, and leaving you forever alone. No point in calling the ex, she's already found solace in the arms of some gym cunt with washboard abs and a cock like Fatima Whitbreds throwing arm.
Then, you have the cretins that not only believe in a higher psychic power, and that not only do they have that higher power, but they have more higher power than you, they are the highest powerist of them all, clairvoyants, psychics, those who pray on the foolish and the bereaved, a very scary combination of general lack of common sense, and the vulnerability that watching the person who made sure they didn't walk under a bus each day suddenly thrash their way out of life, turning blue, shitting themselves and vomiting in front of them with the indignity dial turned to ten. If Nigerian fraudsters could get hold of the UK register of deaths, they would have a field day.
I wont mention any TV psychics, especially those that are female and have the initials PS as apparently the four eyed cunt has penchant for dishing out legal warnings for anyone who dares to challenge her power, the four eyed blond haired Essexy accented lying exploitative bucket of shit.. I am not for one second saying that there isn't a soul on the planet that can communicate with the dead, I am not saying it because I don't understand it. But I just know that she cant, the dead, even lying in wooden boxes a sea of worms have some semblance of class and would never channel their thoughts from the misty unknown of the afterlife through that twannock. They would rather subtly put love hearts on cream crackers and occasionally fart through the line between life and death and you can stand there and reminisce about your dearly departed and their mustard gas beery shit farts.
Animals however, despite their seeming simplicity have mastered next level communication and psychic ability, there is no other explaining that smug look on a cats face, that look it gives you that says, I know something you don't, I have seen your death and its nasty, I will rub my anal gland over your still warm corpse and then move in next door for my food and milk.
Dogs, despite their lopping tongued loyalty and stupid ears probably have means of communicating with each other over vast distances, forming complex breakdowns of their days, “Owner is a massive cunt, I shat all over his hearth rug today and pretended I was ill, took me to the vet and everything, 300 quid, ha, what a cunt, and he takes me on boring walks, I only put up with him because I know how he dies, and its going to be fun, I might even have a little nibble on his still warm body and give it doe eyes when the police arrive”.
Parrots, talking, oh how clever, they are taking the piss, silly accents, they are mugging us off, the next parrot I hear talk talking in patronising English, I am going to ring its fucking neck, wrap the cunt in breadcrumbs and stuff it full of garlic butter, if you go up to a lion and do an impression of its roar in a high tinny sarcastic tone and it will kill you slowly and painfully and wipe its anal gland over your corpse. Don t ever take animals as being stupid, they are plotting, all while we dumb ourselves down with technology and invention. You laugh, but you wont when in about 20 years you are a hippos bitch, listening to the creaking of your heavily lubricated arsehole praying it doesn't tear. You have been warned.
Despite all the potential in our huge melon heads, on a sensual level, we have failed to live up to the hype, instead relying on invention and technology, we will die in stupid ways surrounded by 3g next generation shit, we have been a massive disappointment, we are all shit (apart from Derek Acora)
Its not too late to get in touch with your mystical side, look around you now, you are probably alone in a room about to log this crap off and look at some porn, but if you are around people, try and send them a telepathic (telepathetic) message, just call them a name and stare at them as you do it, feel the word in your head like an aneurysm and fire it at them like a fireball in street fighter, if they turn around and punch you, you have succeeded (or they have just grown uncomfortable at the sight of you starting at them trying to gurn a word out of your face) fear not, keep trying, eventually, if the numerous punches to the face have not robbed you of your ability, you will be an amazing enlightened human, and at the very least will be able to put dirty messages into womens minds and be devoid of prosecution, woop woop
Right, at 6.43 on the 24th Jan, I sent you a psychic message, did you get it?**
**I called you a cunt
