All entries for Sunday 05 December 2004

December 05, 2004

A few of my favourite things – By Sam.

Writing about web page http://blogs.warwick.ac.uk/svboulby

I just noticed that everyone on the planet who isn't me is an utter twat (except you Natalie, you are delightful, let me kiss you all over. Oh Natalie! Our love is like that of the shakespearean tragedies; beautiful and epheremal). Welcome to another edition of Sam Hates. Mother. A quick picture of me as I'm about to choke the philosopher Berekely:

You know who's a really big twat?

Jesus.

I hate Jesus. Universal love? Give me a giant fork up the ass instead.
Jesus you are going on The List. While I'm at it lets add fun. I hate fun. I hate you as well, all of you (Except you my darling, beautiful gorgeous Natalie. Let us elope together and escape to mexico where we can't make sweet passionate love under the stars forever. I had forgotten the sweet touch of your delicate hand. Ah! Its like golden fairies playing on my face), you're all going on The List. The List? I hate it. I'm putting The List on The List.

Time for a poem about Arnie.

Oh Arnie!
Your muscles make me think,
Of that incident with the sink,
When my pet dog Hend,
Became more than just a friend.

Oh Arnie!
Your witty, clever puns,
Are better than the Huns,
Nobody can touch you,
Without needing a tissue.

Oh Arnie!
You have now gone into politics,
but I can't forget your timeless flicks,
Maybe I'm suffering from a witches hex,
But I desire you for anal sex.

This weeks competition will be to come up with a name for my new baby (Oh Natalie make love to me again and we will raise a whole brood. Oh again! again! MOTHER! Er… I mean Natalie! I didn't mean it. I don't know why I said that! Don't leave… please I am nothing without you, a broken shell of a man. No… Natalie… please) I stole the baby from some poor people because I'm rich and like to steal from poor people. Ha.


Just time for some Reader's emails.

Email 1: Dear Sam,

Your blog is getting progressively less funny. Please stop the rot.
Yours,

Madeup Stupidname

My response: Dear Madeup,

My blog is the best thing in the universe and provides me with a constant source of lifeblood. Do you know I haven't missed a day in a squillion years? How good is that? Oh bloggy you are always there for me with you comforting cloak of darkness. I'm not losing it (Oh Natalie, Inside I am now empty. I'm losing more than just my mind. My skin is falling off).

Yours,
Sam

Email 2: Dear Samuel,

Why do you hate everything? I didn't bring you up that way. Come back to me my darling boy. I ironed your pants just the way you like them and I'm cooking your favourite meal.

Yours lovingly,

Mother

My response: Dear Mother,

Erm… You are not my mother… Ignore this email readers. Obviously a spoof. Everyone knows that my mother hates me and locks me in a cage. Ha ha ha, yes. But I'm tough and I escaped. Thats exactly what happened. (Mother I will be back home soon, I miss you loads. My Natalie has deserted me like you said she would. You are the only woman for me now. I'm sorry about the bad things I said about you. Forgive me.)

Yours,
Sam


The mystery of women

Today, I recieved an early copy of my autobiographical self help guide fresh from the printers. This book is based upon my lifetime of experience at being super smooth and gob smackingly great and should be available from all awesome stockists in time for Christmas. I thought I'd hold up my copy and look smoulderingly into the camera lens for you all.

To celebrate this joyous occasion, I thought I'd read you a small extract from within its advice filled pages. You'll have to excuse me my beautiful female (hetrosexual) and male (homosexual) readers, for the next section of this entry I will be exclusively talking to the males who like breasts and the females who agree.

Over the years I've had many chances to observe the so called 'opposite sex' in close proximity, and have gained valuable insights into the secrets of the female mind. I don't pretend to have all the answers, the engima of the feminine is a grand and difficult one, stumping intellects as grand as Nietzsche and Doc. Brown. Yet hopefully, in some small way, I can move forward your understanding of the fairer sex and help heal the painful sexual wound of misunderstanding. Listen and learn.

The Mystery of women - An extract from my new book

Women. women. women. Its a funny sounding word, a strange conflation of 'men' and 'wobblesquiffle', and neither of these words will help you understand what to say when a woman says 'Does this make me look fat'. However the following advice might. To start with, I'd like to clear up some common misconceptions about women.

Women love a present of flowers and chocolate

No, they don't.

No one likes flowers. Ask yourself these simple questions: Can a flower have a peg leg? Can a flower wield nunchucks at blinding speed? Can in fact a flower do anything other than slowly wilt and die in a vase reminding us all of the inevitable end of our existence? The answer is; of course they bloody can't. Leave the flowers where they belong; in the ground.

Chocolate is a more difficult one to understand because a woman will love to eat chocolate that she buys herself and who (except Greg) doesn't like delicious, silky, dark, magnificent, melt in your mouth, succulent, elemental chocolate? No one. Yet, the woman who receives a gift of chocolate is receiving something else. A message of pure hatred from you, you harsh unfeeling bastard. How could you send me chocolate, have you seen my figure? I know you think I'm fat... I know you think I'm ugly, but this is the end. You think I eat chocolate all the time? Fine! I will! We're never having sex ever again.

Don't let this sad story become your life. Put those chocolates and flowers back where you found them and get her an Arnold Schwarzenegger film instead. Everybody loves Arnie.

Women want you to call them on the phone

No they don't.

Calling them would be too easy. If you don't call her back she'll know you are specifically ignoring her, no better way to make a girl feel important that giving her your undivided lack of attention. Use the time you save by never ringing her up and exchanging endless "No, you hang up hufflesquidglehuggyhamster!"'s to do far more awesome things like digging a really big hole.

Women mean what they say

No, they don't.

I'll throw out a few commonly heard female phrases and explain what they really mean:

  • "I'd like to go out for dinner tonight darling"
    Translation : Ignore me, walk out the door, get on your motorbike and speed around setting things on fire.

  • "Lets have a quiet night in with a movie"
    Translation : Have you tried having sex with my best friend? She's really hot and I know she fancies you. I'll see you tomorrow stud.

  • "I'm not sure where this relationship is going"
    Translation : Lets go and see a movie about space pirates!

  • "I love you"
    Translation : I love having sex! Lets do that again! Please don't say anything I love it when you act the strong, silent type.

  • "Do I look fat?"
    Translation : Do you like kung fu movies? Please say you do because I want to watch all of Bruce Lee's films in a 24-hour marathon session.

The female mind

So you know how to avoid the common pitfalls, but how do you tell what she's thinking? Simple, like Mel Gibson, you have to learn to think like a woman. Imagine you have breasts. Consider the positive aspects of Tom Cruise. Try to think like a pirate with breasts. This picture may help:

What is she thinking? Meditate on this question. When you understand you will have achieved complete mastery of women.

If anyone solves the riddle posed by the female pirate then please share it with the group.


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