hungbunny

New blog

2007-10-21T18:33:00.000+01:00

Over here.

Spastic Surgeons

2007-08-01T15:11:00.000+01:00

My back operation has been postponed for the third time. I showed up at the hospital yesterday morning, signed the consent form, put on the plastic bracelets, got shown to my bed, unpacked my stuff, and then - after seven hours with no food or drink - was told my MRI scans had been archived somewhere and couldn't be found.

I was furious and relieved in equal measures. Before I signed the consent form a doctor had informed me of the risks involved. Previously I'd been led to believe there was a 1 in 10,000 chance of paralysis and "loss of sexual function", but yesterday the odds had shortened to 1 in 500. I'm seriously reconsidering whether it's worth the gamble. I mean, would you put your gonads into the hands of people who can't even file things properly?

Attention Muslims!

2007-07-24T18:41:00.001+01:00

Are you too busy planning Jihad to remember to pray? Do your duties to Allah suffer because you spend every waking hour surfing the internet for things to get offended about? Is your face so obscured by black cloth that you can't see what time it is? Then fear not, those 72 virgins can still be yours, with the help of this handy Firefox plug-in.

"I've Even Sucked An Old Man's Cock"

2007-07-16T17:48:00.000+01:00

Some time ago now I was "tagged" by Foot Eater, the blogosphere's answer to a rhetorical question. I'm supposed to come up with eight bits of autobiographical trivia, but you'll have to make do with half that:

I have appeared on television twice, once with Ainsley Harriott.

I used to share a house with Max Beesley, and he hates my guts.

I once sold hashish to Mani from the Stone Roses.

So far, so Z-list. But I saved the best for last:

I have met the lovely Noreen. Now that's quality name-dropping.

I'm not tagging anyone else: the buck stops here.

(A round of applause to anyone who knows where the title of this post is taken from.)

I'm Not A Racist, But...

2007-07-09T16:19:00.000+01:00

...if the good people of Lewisham want to dress up in white robes and scare the shit out of this monstrous harridan when she gets evicted from the Big Brother house, they have my blessing.

Spot the Difference

2007-07-05T14:24:00.000+01:00

The ~~Matisse~~ Magritte (that's the one on the right) belonged to legendary jazz warbler and jizz gargler George Melly, who died today at the age of 80. Please let it be Dylan's turn next.

Hitch or Titch?

2007-07-04T12:32:00.000+01:00

It's all gone quiet chez Hungbunny; even the cockroaches appear to have gone on holiday. But instead of boring you all with yet another diatribe against the smoking ban, I would like to draw your attention to an altercation going on at my friend Fearfink's new blog:

The Hitch: Look at your arsewipe of a blog, and compare it to mine* and you will see that you are just a little snot nose kid with jam around her grimacing fat face. Cunt.

Fearfink: I have come to the fully considered view that The Hitch (anyone who refers to him or her self as "The" anything is pretty close to or already in a crisis) has a very small penis.

Hitch or titch? You decide...

*Sample post title: "Daft Pakis try and attack Glasgow airport."

Deathly Quiet

2007-06-25T21:24:00.000+01:00

Some old codger died outside my flat this morning. It was fantastic. Normally the rush hour traffic is deafening, but the police cordoned off the high street for hours and it was so peaceful I could have meditated, had I been the kind of cunt who meditates.

Incidentally, if there are any rich American sports fans reading this, I live less than two miles from Wimbledon and I will happily sub-let my flat, roaches and all, for the very reasonable sum of £1000 a week. The only caveat is that you don't sit on the couch as it isn't reinforced.

Last Legs

2007-06-19T14:56:00.000+01:00

There are cockroaches in my new flat. You only tend to see one at a time, and it's usually a dead one, but I know the invasion can't be far off. I'm hoping that my cats are bringing them in from outside, but let's face it - there's more likelihood of me keeping this blog updated regularly.

It's often said that cockroaches can survive a nuclear holocaust. Utter bollocks, although apparently they can live for two weeks with their heads cut off, which is quite impressive. I'd like to see Bono try and do that. I'd really, really like to see that.

Anyway, I conducted an experiment with one of the little fuckers. I captured a live one, sealed it in the smallest Tupperware container I could find, and shook it vigorously half a dozen times a day. I concluded that cockroaches can survive about a week of this treatment, although further experiments are needed to ascertain whether they die from lack of oxygen or from all their legs falling off.

No Excuses

2007-06-13T20:59:00.000+01:00

I've had broadband for some time now, I just couldn't be arsed to post anything. Give me one good reason why I should, you cunts.

On The Move (Again)

2007-05-17T13:44:00.000+01:00

My days of living in Cunt's Corner are almost at an end. This weekend I'm moving back to my spiritual home, back with the flotsam and chav scum at the lower end of the Northern Line. Within a fifty-foot radius of my new flat there's a pub, a chip shop, a curry house, a newsagent, a chemist and a pet shop. Fags, booze, fast food, condoms and hamsters - now that's what I call a party bag.

This might be my last post for a while, depending on whether or not I can steal wireless broadband from the pub. Not that you'll notice any difference.

The Lavender Hill Mob

2007-04-30T23:34:00.000+01:00

Let there be no doubt about it: Battersea is chock-full of thick rich cunts. Today the local butcher charged the woman in front of me £35.52 for a leg of lamb. She looked like every other bint around here - blonde, baby buggy, using her sunglasses as an alice band - and she could probably have afforded the whole of Wales, but £35.52? It must have been one of those endangered one-legged Tibetan Hopping Sheep. Either that or the butcher's been watching Harry Enfield.

I never thought I'd say this, but I'm getting nostalgic for the chavs of Tooting.

Forgive Me, Readers...

2007-04-25T19:46:00.000+01:00

...for I have sinned. It has been nine days since my last post. That's slack, even for me. Living in an affluent area is not conducive to blogging, I've found. There's no time, what with all the air-kissing and braying in wine bars.

Is anyone still visiting this page? And if so, why? I'm far too upmarket for you now - in fact I'm considering introducing a dress code. A well-pressed shirt and smart shoes for the gents, and for the ladies - anything you like as long as you have shapely breasts. Otherwise, a niqab.

Attention Arseholes!

2007-04-16T12:00:00.000+01:00

Stick your iPod where it belongs.

Floored

2007-04-13T12:10:00.000+01:00

If you're wondering why I haven't posted anything about my new life as a resident of Nappy Valley, it's because the only bit of it I've seen so far is my bedroom floor. I fucked up my back while moving house, and the only position I've found that takes the pressure off my sciatic nerve is on all fours. Anyone who looks through my window must think I'm waiting to get buggered, although since everyone around here looks like an estate agent they probably won't bat an eyelid.

Pork News

2007-04-04T22:51:00.000+01:00

The morepork is an antipodean owl, so called because that's what it says. "More pork! More pork!" It must have been saying that for thousands of years, yet its diet still consists of moths and mice. The poor fucker. Has no one ever slipped it a chipolata?

In other pork-related news, this thing of beauty is one of those incredible, innovative, world-changing ideas you wish you'd thought of yourself. If Apple had invented it they'd have called it the iPork.

Farewell, Sweet Tooting

2007-03-27T18:28:00.000+01:00

I love Tooting. I was born here and I've lived here for half of my life. Tooting's got everything the urban gentleman requires - street crime, terror suspects, and the best curry houses in Britain.

But now the dream is coming to an end. As of this Sunday I will be a resident of Battersea (pronounced Bat-ter-see-ah). It's in the same borough as Tooting, but it's on a different planet. Battersea's got a dog's home, a power station, and thousands of women pushing children called Hugo and Cressida around in prams that look like 4x4s.

I feel a killing spree coming on.

Update: was this thing tailor-made for me?

Scatfest

2007-03-22T13:09:00.000Z

Went to the Gilbert & George retrospective at Tate Modern yesterday. If you think you might be offended by photos of old men's cocks and crucifixes made from shit, don't go. I would also warn against taking very young children along, unless you want them to grow up to become bedwetting coprophiles.

One room is filled with the Dirty Words Pictures - pictures with names like Fuck, Cunt, Queer and Communism. A woman pointed one out to her daughter, who may or may not have been a retard - sometimes it's hard to tell where ugliness ends and Downs Syndrome begins - and said, "That one's called Are You Angry Or Are You Boring? Which one do you think mummy is?"

I would have shouted "Cunt!", but I didn't want to offend anyone.

Don't Make Me Laugh

2007-03-19T14:39:00.000Z

According to The 100 Greatest Stand-Ups on Channel 4 last night, Harry Hill is a funnier man than Bill Hicks was. Well I never. I'd always assumed that, as a comedic genre, radical satire was superior to pulling stupid faces. And is Peter Kay really funnier than Bill Bailey or Dylan Moran? Only if you're a pie-eating northern bastard.

Most shocking of all was the news that Billy Connolly is the greatest comedian of all time. The man laughs at his own jokes, for fuck's sake. I'm not surprised his father abused him - if he was here right now I'd like to see how much of his banjo I could fit up his arse.

The best stand-up I've ever seen was Jerry Sadowitz at the Comedy Store:

"If I'd known Jill Dando was going to be shot on the Saturday, I'd have raped her on the Friday. As it happened I had to make do with the Sunday."

Tell me that's not funnier than some Weegie welder talking about jobbies.

All Broke Up

2007-03-17T13:30:00.000Z

And that's that. After three years off the market I am now officially single again.

Form an orderly line, ladies.

Fuck the Children

2007-03-13T18:48:00.000Z

If Lenny Henry's wife went on a diet there'd be enough food for everyone.

And this cunt can fuck off too.

Spring Collection

2007-03-09T16:10:00.000Z

(Click to enlarge.)

Goodbye Cruel World

2007-03-06T21:37:00.000Z

Yesterday's post got no comments at all. I have decided to do the honourable thing: delete the post and take an enormous quantity of sleeping pills. Mum, Dad, I'm sorry. Could someone please look after my cat?

Something for Everyone

2007-03-02T11:34:00.000Z

All You Can Cheat

2007-02-27T20:58:00.000Z

A TV cookery programme has landed itself in hot water - fuck me, I'm good - for fleecing punters who voted in a competition they had no hope of winning. I watched the programme, and if I remember rightly the question was something like:

Wholegrain, Dijon and English are all types of:

A. Mayonnaise
B. Mustard
C. Meringue

The phone calls cost 25p a minute and the prize was a chance to appear on the following week's show. Big fucking whoop. Frankly, if you're the kind of person who'd pay money to get up early on a Saturday morning to go and sit at a table and say "Mmmm, that's delicious, the lemon really counteracts the richness of the duck", then you are a sushi-grade cunt who deserves to be lightly poached in a broth made from your own entrails.

(By the way, my American friends, the answer is B, mustard. It's the yellow stuff they put on hot dogs.)

Grinderman: A Review

2007-02-23T12:02:00.000Z

Genius. With beards.

I sent her every type of flower,
I played her guitar by the hour,
I patted her revolting little chihuahua,
But still she just didn't want to.

I thought I'd try another tack,
I drank a litre of cognac,
I threw her down upon her back,
But she just laughed and said that she just didn't want to.

I got the no pussy blues.

Fake Twat

2007-02-19T12:00:00.000Z

Poor Robbie Williams. From the glamour of alcohol and cocaine addiction to a housewife's diet of aspirin and Nescafé. The man clearly has emotional issues that no amount of fame and free gash is going to sort out.

People like Robbie will always be addicted to one thing or another, so I've drawn up a list of activities he might like to consider once he's fed up with Red Bull:

Needle sharing
Armed robbery
Self-asphyxiation
Russian roulette
Kiddy fiddling

Or how about religion? If he became a Trappist monk and took a vow of silence we'd all be spared his whining, and the tabloids could devote their spare pages to the things that really matter - Britney's shaven ~~haven~~ head and D-list celebs with enormous bosoms.

The Interpretation of Dreams

2007-02-13T15:26:00.000Z

The only mammals that don't dream are the spiny anteater and the dolphin. Dolphins don't experience REM sleep because their brains never completely shut down, whereas the spiny anteater doesn't dream because it can't conceive of anything weirder than itself to dream about.

When a human being dreams about anteaters it forewarns that he should proceed with caution before entering into a business agreement. When he dreams about dolphins it signifies that he is either a tree-hugging tosser or a chav on a spending spree.

Feed Your Head

2007-02-10T18:40:00.000Z

What, no bubble?

(For the benefit of Johnny Foreigner, this is bubble. Now try and tell me that British cuisine isn't the finest in the world.)

I Think, Therefore Islam

2007-02-08T12:35:00.000Z

I wish I was a Muslim. No one ever talks about the stylish facial hair or how fucking erotic those women look in their peephole dresses; it's all bombing this and beheading that... But say what you like about the pork-dodgers, at least they're not Christians. I'd convert tomorrow, if only I could find a sect that wouldn't rip my tongue out for drinking vodka. Then I could stop shaving and declare a fatwa on Bono. Bismillah!

Mock the Week: A Review

2007-02-02T12:22:00.000Z

Up Your Date

2007-01-31T15:29:00.000Z

Doesn't it drive you fucking mad when people don't update their blogs for days on end, and then when they do finally pull their thumb out of their arse and write something, it's not even worth reading? Cunts.

East End Noise

2007-01-25T14:04:00.000Z

One problem with having impeccable taste in music is finding people to go to events with. Most of my friends are tone-deaf morons who would rather listen to Scissor Sisters than Sissy Spacek, so I'm chuffed as nuts that my mate Ben has agreed to come to an all-day noise festival in Bethnal Green with me. "That's a lot of chin-stroking", he said, "I'm up for it".

And should eight hours of earnest young men screaming at their laptops prove too much for one sitting, we can always pop out for a quiet pint - just as long as we're back in time for Testicle Hazard.

Sad But True

2007-01-22T13:32:00.000Z

Is today really the most depressing day of the year?

Oh sweet Jesus, yes.

Jaded

2007-01-19T20:25:00.000Z

Good News, Bad News

2007-01-17T15:07:00.000Z

Good news: It's my birthday.

Bad news: I am unlikely to get any expensive presents.

Good news: I've just made my first cocktail of the day.

Bad news: I am toasting the memory of a dead dog.

Fox News

2007-01-15T17:26:00.000Z

The pregnant vixen that died in our back garden last week has now been collected by the binmen. Should I have put it on eBay?

Cutting Back

2007-01-12T12:41:00.000Z

Yesterday I was put on the waiting list for a spine operation. This man is going to make a three-inch incision in the small of my back, drill a couple of holes in the bone, and cut out a bit of disc. It's all incredibly erotic.

Apparently there's a 1 in 10,000 chance of paralysis, which is the same odds as contracting HIV through oral sex. I'd rather have a blowjob than invasive surgery, but he didn't offer. Anyway, what's the worst case scenario? I get to piss in a bag and razz around in one of these? It's a win-win situation.

Tripe

2007-01-09T20:16:00.000Z

So what do you think of the new banner? I myself have never eaten tripe, mainly because it looks like one of these things, and I expect they both taste like an old lady's arse.

As for the "Cunt, London" bit, those of you too young or American to know its origins can get yourself an education here. Fuck, that doesn't half give me the horn. Clicking on links and that.

Update: I've just discovered that Internet Explorer 7 only displays half the banner. Never mind. If you're still using IE rather than Firefox then you obviously don't care about aesthetics anyway.

Yes, It's A Fucking Kitten

2007-01-05T19:27:00.000Z

A Norwegian Forest Kitten, to be precise, and I'm showing it to you because it's my birthday in less than two weeks and I want one. Club together if you have to.

One more thing: if you order it from America, do me a favour and get it one of them there injections so it'll stay small and cute forever. Much obliged.

Too Many Hogs

2007-01-01T15:44:00.000Z

Shortly after midnight last night I found myself watching Jools Holland and Paul Weller hooting their nannies on the BBC. I wasn't even drunk enough to throw stuff at them. In the words of another master musician, things can only get better.

Update: I just found out that my friend Mark got burgled last night. It's been a shit Christmas all round. Next year I'm locking myself in my room from Diwali until Burns Night with an enormous pork pie and a crossbow.

Worst. Christmas. Ever.

2006-12-30T14:51:00.000Z

This wasn't supposed to happen. I genuinely meant to trash this blog and spend my spare time doing something more constructive, like wanking. Little did I realise that over the "festive" season my personal life was going to go completely tits-up, leaving me with too much time on my hands and overflowing with spite and bile.

So I'm back. Thanks for all the pleas, threats and insults you left while I was away. Let us stride together into 2007 with a newfound pessimism and contempt for our fellow man, especially that miserable cunt Bob Dylan.