Space Cop

One of my favorite fake film trailers from those great people at Red Letter Media:

Hoot The Homeless Guy Blog | I Got Laid Last Night. God Bless Halloween!

Halloween is a strange night for us homeless. You have dickholes running around with cans of silly string wearing Jason masks, chucking eggs at cars and lobbing flour bombs at middle class homes (not that I get too beat-up about that). These young arseholes are all jacked up on sugar, so they think they’re Jonny Knoxville or whatever and they want to kick a hobo up the arse or throw marmite at his head. Not me you understand, they know not to fuck with me. They take one look at me and know I’d rather rape their juvenile arses and get stabbed in the dick in prison for being a pedo than take shit from a little squirt wearing a plastic werewolf mask – I just have that look about me. You can too; just practice your rape face while looking into your wife’s eyes while you’re balling her, she’ll let you know when you’ve perfected it.

This Halloween was different however, as I felt a bit more cheerful and social; maybe it was the side effects of drinking that Russian absinthe I found at an industrial waste site. Anyway, I started wondering around when I bumped into this group of Uni students dressed as various stupid shit. So I followed them, hoping that they would lead me to a Halloween party so I could steal as much booze as possible.

When we got to this oversized house, the students rang the doorbell and some whore dressed as Lara Croft: Extra Slut Addition opened the door and let them in. What the fuck is this rubbish? What happened to proper house parties when you just left the front door open and let any motherfucker into your house to drink your booze and loot all of your shit? That’s what house parties are about! You party until all your possessions are gone and crack heads have moved into bathroom.

So I came up with a plan, a flawless plan, I climbed over the back fence and dropped into the garden. There were a few people knocking about who were giving me the stink eye, but I just gave them my rape face and they backed the fuck off. I made my way to the bathroom, pissed on the floor matt, dropped a few bog rolls down the toilet, flushed and then made my way to the booze table.

There was some red punch with fruit floating in it, without even tasting it I emptied all the remaining booze left on the table into the punch bowl and then poured this new hobo cocktail into one of the now empty wine bottles, filling it to the neck. I’d only been there five minutes and I had already fulfilled my entire night’s ambitions.

I was sitting on the sofa, drinking my awesome cocktail when this girl of about 20 came up to me, she’d drunk herself retarded. She was also fat, really fat, like if some mad scientist had merged a cow and with a hamburger, that’s what she looked like. It was a horrific sight. Her flab was oozing out of her costume, which  I think was meant to be Lady Gaga, but she could have been struggling for a idea and decided to stick random crap to a fluorescent orange dress for all I know. She asked who the fuck I was:

Me: “I’m Slutty Lara Croft’s cousin, now piss off, I’m drinking my cocktail”

Her: “What the fuck have you come as?”

Me: “What the fuck does it look like, sweet cheeks?  I’ve come as Homeless Santa. How about you and me go upstairs and make Santa come early this year?”

Her: “I have a boyfriend”

Me: “I doubt that”

Her: “He has a small cock”

Me: “He told me you were too fat to fuck, he might have a point. I hooked him up with my cousin. She does anal, she’s Canadian.”

Her: “You fuck! He’s a fuck! Why the fuck!?”

Me: “That’s how it is”.

Her: “Right, well, I’ll show you who’s too fat to fuck!”

Then she took me upstairs to some bedroom. She was trying to take her top off, but it got caught over her fat head. I took this opportunity to quickly wash my knob with my cocktail – I hadn’t washed the chap in about a month. It stung like a bastard, but I manned up and bent her over the desk, still with her top caught over her head. For dramatic effect I swept the desk clear – knocking a Mac to the floor. “What was that?” she said, “Foreplay”, I answered – then I rammed it in her. I gave her a good few thrusts, she squealed like a pig, which I’m not ashamed to say turned me on. It had been a while since I’d been with a woman, I thought I wouldn’t last long, but the cocktail had numbed my dick and her ugliness had helped keep the wolf from the door. Luckily her face was still covered from her top, which she was still trying to get off, otherwise I probably would of gone limp.

She was big, it was like fucking the moon, but less magical. I kept pounding away, she started screaming “Daddy, Daddy, fuck me harder”, she obviously had problems. I was getting close, thank fuck, I was starting to get tired. She finally got the top off her head – just in time. I span her round, bent her in front of me and unleashed my load into her eye. After all this time, I’ve still got my aim.

“You came in my eye!” She shouted at me, “Yep”, I said, “You’re going to need a sterile eye wash kit before that shit starts to blind you”. I pulled my pants up and picked up my cocktail, it was time to leave. On my way out the door I managed to scoop up the last of the sausage rolls and an unopened tube of Pringles, paprika flavour – they taste like shit.

And that was my Halloween. I’m already looking forward to next year!

Ripsaw: Revenge of the Dead

To celebrate Halloween I’ve decided to post up my low budget 70’s horror spoof Ripsaw: Revenge of the Dead. Shot over the summer of 2007, Ripsaw is complete with zombies, surly cops, violence gratification, necrophilia and a nonsensical plot.

My university president called it “genius” while his secretary said it was “the sickest, most vile piece of shit I have ever seen” then she never spoke to me again.

Enjoy!

Related content: Ripsaw outtakes | Director and Producer Q&A | DVD Cover

To All The Street Charity Workers Who Judge Me When I Walk On Past

Fuck you for judging me! Just because I’m not willing to chuck my scrap change in a tin with “feed the goats” on it doesn’t mean I don’t have a soul. You don’t fucking know me or have a clue what I do.

Maybe I like to thoroughly research the charity I’m donating too. Maybe I like to know exactly how my donation will help the cause. Maybe I don’t want 50% of my donation to go on highlighters in your shitty office as this ‘improves productivity’ and so is a legit ‘admin cost’. Or maybe I just don’t want to give money to some dodgy looking cunt with a bucket standing outside a tube station next to a bum flogging an out of date travel card.

I don’t give a fuck if you got a clipboard, a florescent jacket, a charity branded umbrella and a bubbly personality – I’m not that hot on giving my credit card details to some hippie hoping for a commission.

And double fuck you if you knock on my door and judge me on my own door step – I don’t give a shit if your badge says your from Cancer Research, I’m still going to treat you like a cunt who is trying to sell me £5 pound dish clothes.

So fuck you the next time your naïve, child-like self skips on over to me on the high street then acts like I’m personally responsible for AIDS in Africa when I walk on past.

And finally fuck you if you think it’s rude when I ignore you! You’re going to find it ruder if I lay down the above points to you when my pissed-off arse gets off the tube.

Gos wants to clean my house, pay negotiable

Gos posted his business card through my door. It’s important to support local businesses so I’m going to give him a call and allow him to recce my house for robbery.

Old Smoking Kit

My 7-year old smoking kit found in the back of my draw. Fuck me, that Bulldog paper is from my first trip to Dam. Tabaco still smells fresh. Time to roll a cheeky one…cigarette that is.

Oh Shut Up Cadbury!

God I hate those Cadbury adverts! They remind me of those people who insist on telling everyone that their ‘creative’ because they glue stamps onto gerbils or something equally stupid.

 ”Oh look! How amazingly creative! Clothes are break dancing!”

Where the fuck do they get these stupid ideas? I bet they’re from the executive producer who doodles in his production dairy and keeps a dream journal and so he thinks his ideas are ‘super imaginative’. Kids dancing their eyebrows? Some shit cars racing around an airport? Spots v Stripes? Just because you do some random shit doesn’t mean it’s clever! It’s just fucking random! And Yes! That includes that stupid gorilla drumming to Phil Colins because anything involving Phil Colins is automatically terrible.

So I’ve come up with a list of better ways to promote their chocolate brand and I will charge half a billion pounds (after tax) if they want to develop my super amazing creative cum fest of ideas:

1) A hedgehog sky diving while on fire to ‘It’s Raining Men’ by the Weather Girls.

2) A Mexican four-piece guitar band hunting down an international art thief while performing ‘The Final Countdown’ in Spanish.

3) A fox riding a greyhound as it’s chased by a herd of angry flying goats. Or would that be a flock?

4) Fat chicks eating Cadbury products while weeping as they watch the Twilight Saga boxset, thus representing 80% of their consumers. Erm, you can have Lesley Gore’s ‘It’s My Party…(and I’ll cry if I want to)’ playing in the background for that. Nice touch, if I say so myself.

5) A Dairy Milk bar being used by a pedo dressed as an elf to lure kids onto his houseboat made out of marmite while the Happy Days theme tune plays over the top. This will only be aired in Belgium.

6) A jazzy tumour punching its way out of Phil Colins head then singing ‘Never Gonna Give You Up’ as it tap dances across the kitchen floor. This is actually a recurring dream of mine. Good job I keep a dream journal huh!