AND ANOTHER THING...

I rate the name of this entry highly, as it implies that I'm following on from something already posted. It makes me seem fuck off prolific, that's what it does. Truth of the matter is, it doesn't following on from anything, I'm just being creative and using and abusing my domain. It's kind of like pissing on something to tell those with an acute sense of smell that it's yours, or how you used to lick the entire length of any yummy food within your possession when your little brother was eyeing it off. It's about ownership. So that sorted let's move onto some issues from my week. First off, I've become troubled by the blatant abuse of ginger haired people recently...I know, random or what? Anyway, I think it's important at this early stage to admit that I'm actually a bit of a closet fanta-pants-a-phobe. Is Fanta a universal drink? If for some tragic reason it isn't, I want you to think of any fizzy drink that is pretty much neon orange, that is what Fanta looks like. In further explanation, you take the colour of said beverage and relate it to the pants area of any vibrant red head. Their neon pubic hair can then be related to you in a slang term of "Fanta Pants". Simple really, now run off and enjoy it with all your friends. Or stay and read the rest of this entry, the choice is yours.

So now that I've come clean on my genetic racism, I can continue relating my concerns. I've noticed lots of media outlets, comedians and people in general, using ginger kids as the new punch line for a variety of jokes. Normally I would applaud this kind of punch line abuse, throwing in my own version of hilarity to encourage the laughs. Suddenly though, it seems I'm confronted by it every where. Perhaps I'm sensitive to it as I've been such a purveyor of it myself. The end result is that now, I feel sorry for them. I feel like it's time for me to get over it and walk the nose bleeding, moral high ground. Hope they have a hand rail, I'm liable to lose my footing and such as my lungs struggle to absorb what little oxygen exists at that height. After all, I have ginger haired friends and they are all fucken H.O.T., I've also seen a hot one in some nasty gay porn and Prince Harry has already eclipsed his brother on the delectable scale. So clearly I'm not as horrified as my actions proclaim. Oh and apparently, according to that last argument, I also think that if someone is worthy of a root, then that makes their entire species acceptable to me, go figure. Oh and can I just stop for a second and say, I know I'm breaking the laws of science with my classification of red heads as an 'entire species', but go with me. The fact of the matter is, I'm still uncomfortable with it, even though I'm perfectly capable of supplying acceptable examples of ginger haired rootability.

I have never really got the fascination that some people truly have for body hair that looks like it's dropped off something Frank Oz made using felt, craft glue and a bunch of other shit. It seems weird that on some people it's so vividly orange and then it's backed up with skin that is so soft, pristine, white and almost paper thin that you can see the fucken blood moving through their veins for fucks sake. I think I officially became tainted by the ranga (slang shortening of the word orang-utan, the orange furred primate) when I attended a night of the comedy stage show "Puppetry of the Penis". Anyone who knows me properly, knows I love staring at a love truncheon, it's verging on a hobby. Is that even allowed to be referred to as a hobby? Would the Society of Hobby Classification be outraged at me trying to sully their honourable name? Anyway, I'm sitting in the audience with a friend...no idea which one...the lights dim, the promise of penis is in the air, everyone leans forward in anticipation of clever willy routines. Then out on stage wanders two guys, not the original creators of course, but some lowly paid penis manipulators that are the virtual store Santa versions of the original, mythical Santa of pork sword trickery. The trickery started even before the playground of pecker aerobics began, one of them was a ginger in disguise. He had bottle blond hair and on the flicking back of the silky cape that covered his work space he unveiled a shock of extremely bushy, neon orange plumage. This was then further enhanced via the use of a select number of cameras and 2 very large TV screens that made an electronic billboard of this technicolour trimmed schlong.

It was fucken FULL ON! I know, I used capitals and an exclamation mark, it was that serious. I was torn between wanting to settle into a night of revelling in big screen winkie and the shock and horror of the platter it was being served on. I of course allowed the winkie to win and enjoyed the show, although I was glad I didn't pay for it as the continuous muppet fluff displayed under the same sort of illumination used by 7-eleven, did immeasurable harm. Still all the rampant ginger attacks have forced a change that sees me treading slowly towards the entrance for that lovely walk along the moral high ground. I figure it's time I put all of that behind me and get the fuck over it. Simple. There were other things I wanted to mention however I think I've unleashed a tirade of suitable length to allow me to wrap this one up. I also have no fucken idea what those other topics were so move along, there's nothing to see here.