Sunday, August 29, 2010

Can't stop hating on fashion blogs



Britain's favorite Drag Queen Fergie impersonator is actually more feminine than the original. Funny how life works, hey?



I'm not wearing my glasses so I am going to assume her shirt says "Boner Killer".



I think Clare wears those shorts to spin class.



JINX your shirt has to buy you a coke.



OI BOB DYLAN Edie Sedgwick was a crazy cunt! Get out now!



"Okay you can take my picture but after I'm going to take you out for coffee then rape you"



She looks like a special edition Happy Meal toy made especially for Paris Fashion Week.



The company who made your shirt forgot the letters T-E T-E-R-M A-B-O-R-T-I-O-N. You should get a refund.



This guys lack of eyelashes make him look like he is wearing a pair of these:



I know it isn't his fault but it's giving me a stress headache.



I actually want to make love to this Nietzschean bird woman.




She reminds me of those moths that have spots on their wings to look like scary eyes



Except for instead of scaring off predators she's scaring off boners.



I don't think that Effie from Skins is a good role model for young potential sluts.



Taylor Swift Skank Chic: Coming to a Supre near you!



My vagina looks like that too! Nom nom nom lol!

FUCK YOU FASHION BLOG

Over a month ago my boss and I got our photos taken for A UK fashion blog and I was psyched! Not just because someone was agreeing with how fash I think I am but also because my boss had just gotten super angry at me for asking him if he accidentally bought his shirt from the women's section of H&M, and I knew the promise of an appearance in a fashion blog would distract him from firing me.

It really did look like a woman's shirt, it had a cowl neck.

So anyway, our picture is not up on there. And I am offended. And hurt. I am also feeling vengeful. The worst part of it is that in most of the pictures the outfits are like the fashion underworld, the seventh circle in particular.



Hey Kristin Stewart, I think a sorcerer turned your black dress yellow and took the insolent scowl off our face. Bummer.



Five years ago this guy would have been dating his hand.



Everyone who thought Jean Michel Basquiat was in heaven blowing Andy Warhol, you were wrong. He's in Liverpool.




This reminds me of the time an African woman said to a homo at my work "excuuuse me, are you a boy or a girl?"



This looks like something Clare would wear except replace the cardi with a prison issue jumper with snot stains on the sleeves and the shoes with some ghey Alexa Chung sandals.



"Oh these? I made them at my anorexia group therapy workshop"



I almost bought Spanx that look like this but I thought that they would make my jeans slip down.



"My uncle bought me a bracelet every time he molested me"



No words required.



These pants are hiding her elephant dick. And making me sick.



This guy must keep his dick in glad wrap inside his beard's handbag.

I'm not saying what the blog is in case they find our photos at a later date and think to themselves "how could I have overlooked such a pair! It looks like a picture of Jenny Lewis hanging out with Morrissey if he died and was dug up and put back together into a Frankenfag!"

Friday, August 27, 2010

LET IT GO

I have decided to be grosser than ever before and not give a crap about anything ever. I'll still pay my bills, make my bed and probably finish my journalism degree at some point. I might even make up a five year plan.

What I mean is that I am going to have little to no shame. I'm not going to start doing audible farts on the train or anything but I am definitely not going to wash my hair more than once a week. This all relates to owning it. If you own every shitty mistake, every character flaw and every disgusting action nobody can ever make fun of you. Sure, people may not like you anymore and you'll most probably never date anyone ever again but you will reach a kind of Zen state and anyway you'll have more time for reading and masturbating.

I know Clare was especially horrified by my most recent blog and I can understand why, nobody in their right mind would admit to falling into their own wee. But I'm not in my right mind. I spend a quarter of my time at my agonisingly boring job and the rest of my time just with me. That's a lot of time to reflect on all the shitty things I have done and I REALLY need to be at peace with them.

Maybe I should just get a therapist, I could just say "hey I just need you to listen to all these awful things, nod and say 'hey, at least you don't want to have sex with children'".

I would like to think I am smart enough to pull off being gross and friendless. One time I beat my entire family at Trivial Pursuit! Although, last time my sister won and I'm pretty sure the doctor accidentally injected the epidural into her head at birth.

So anyway, if you guys still want to be my friend let's go to the royal show and pretend to be siblings then make out. Also, we should get curly fries.

Wednesday, August 25, 2010

If you have a similar question...



...email axe gemmer at axe_da_cod@hotmail.com

OWNING IT

OKAY GUYS so I think everyone needs a lesson on owning their mistakes.

Every time an embarrassing tale comes out about a friend I am like "seriously, why the fuck didn't you fucking own that shit?"

Owning it is when something awful/shit/embarrassing happens to you and you tell anyone who will listen about it. Then you own it and nobody can give you shit. Or if they try it isn't that much fun.

You can be all like "OI last night some guy I met off the Internet rimmed me! It was like bulk-buying terrible nuts" and no matter how hard your friends try to make fun of you they hardly get any satisfaction out of it. If they start calling you "rimmy" or "rimmy weasley" you just start writing rimmy on your water bottles/pens/books etc. Then you own it, do you see the logic?

So anyway here is a story THAT I OWN (because the aforementioned story was made up and not about me).

One time I was peeing in an alleyway near the Scotsman and I lost my balance while attempting to pull up my pants and fell face first into my own pee puddle. I just picked myself up, brushed myself off and asked everyone if they fancied a swim.

I then made the mistake of telling one person. You never know who one person may tell, so you better own that shit. And I did. All my dirtbag friends know that story and I never get shit about it and if I do I'm all like "yeah, it happened, I dealt with it and am a better person because of it".


*Artist impression (not accurate because all artists eat ball hair (R.Boserio))

*some people have asked me if I did what was in the tagline, the answer is NO, ABSOLUTELY NOT, I had actually just had an enema.

Saturday, August 14, 2010

Tuesday, August 10, 2010