Tuesday
50 Cent Reveals he Wants to Punch Kanye West in the Face
50 Cent has recently gone onto American television (dressed in the uniform of bling and hit-dat-esque linen) and mentioned in an interview that he would like to punch Kanye West in the face for his treatment of talentless wailer Taylor Swift. Or, more accurately, he said 'balck his eye.' Now, I don't know if Mr. Cent has looked at Kanye West recently, but it seems to have passed him by that Mr. West's eyes are already black.
Hot, hot, HOT celebrity news site perezhilton.com said 'how 50 Cent fervently (and surprisingly eloquently), talks about what Kanye did to Taylor.' We at the thought flannel speculate that Americans are, firstly, easily surprised, and secondly, don't have a fucking clue what eloquence means.
In the video, Mr. Cent claims that he has been overlooked in 13 Grammy nominations beacause he told the hard truth (in a way that the Americans might think of as 'eloquent'). We at the thought flannel think he has, in actuality, been overlooked beacuase he is shit.
In 2004, the fiscally-named artist was not chosen to win the award, as Evanescence won best newcomer. He boasts fo how many records he has sold. Unfortunately, he seems to have overlooked that Grammy judges do not give out prizrs based on record sales, but on talent. Bless.
Having watched the above film, if you would like to kill yourself, do feel free to, but the Thought Falnnel is not held responsible for injury caused by reading this blog.
Monday
Breaking News: Jordan Raped
Sources have informed us that Katie Price, mother and celebrity has been cruelly raped, the Thought Flannel can disclose.
Some may argue that she had this brutal ordeal 'coming all along', says Margaret Higgins from Scunthorpe Bus Station Stand G. 'I means she's a whore, isn't she. Everyone knows that. Whith boobs bigger than any standard brazier could handle - the one's I've seen at Marks and Spencer, anyway.'
And indeed, the celebrity may be milking her new image as a good-girl a little bit 'he broke my hymen' she told our reporters through teary eyes (that she never allowed to overflow and wash the tan from her face. Convenient...)
She was also so distraught at her experience that the very next day she had to do an exclusive with Hello! Magazine. Poor bitch - I mean, whore - I mean, lady.
Since her divorce from singing sensation and pop trailblazer Peter Andre, the celebrity has found no other outlet for her despair than 24-hour cock binges in back alleys around Essex. 'I just feel so bad for my children' she told our reporters. 'I just worry about how they are taking it'. Probably not up the arse like their mother, our reporters speculate.
She says 'I think that all rapists should be bent over and raped themselves.' She also voices support for gay marriages. Well, you would need the gays to carry out the punishments on the rapists...
'I'm sorry if some people think that's as extreme as my tits' she adds (we paraphrase here), 'but I'm very strict.'
In I'm a Z-list Celebrity, Get Me Out Of Here!!!!!!!!!!!!! she claimed that she was very strict also when it came to lovers, and said she thought it should be a delicate and romantic experience. 'Geezers have gotta gimme all loads of well nice chocolate and shit before they can stick their dick up my twat' she intoned lyrically.
Her dulcet tones also added 'I'm not all about tits. Some people look at me and they can't get past the tits. But I've got a mega twat an' all.'
I hope this article has silenced all her critics, and we would like to end on this note. While Jordan may seem immensely stupid, crass, promiscuous, talentless, ugly, common and absurd, you must bear in mind that she is also a human being who just needs a bit of love in her life. Or a bullet in her brain. You decide.
Some may argue that she had this brutal ordeal 'coming all along', says Margaret Higgins from Scunthorpe Bus Station Stand G. 'I means she's a whore, isn't she. Everyone knows that. Whith boobs bigger than any standard brazier could handle - the one's I've seen at Marks and Spencer, anyway.'
And indeed, the celebrity may be milking her new image as a good-girl a little bit 'he broke my hymen' she told our reporters through teary eyes (that she never allowed to overflow and wash the tan from her face. Convenient...)
She was also so distraught at her experience that the very next day she had to do an exclusive with Hello! Magazine. Poor bitch - I mean, whore - I mean, lady.
Since her divorce from singing sensation and pop trailblazer Peter Andre, the celebrity has found no other outlet for her despair than 24-hour cock binges in back alleys around Essex. 'I just feel so bad for my children' she told our reporters. 'I just worry about how they are taking it'. Probably not up the arse like their mother, our reporters speculate.
She says 'I think that all rapists should be bent over and raped themselves.' She also voices support for gay marriages. Well, you would need the gays to carry out the punishments on the rapists...
'I'm sorry if some people think that's as extreme as my tits' she adds (we paraphrase here), 'but I'm very strict.'
In I'm a Z-list Celebrity, Get Me Out Of Here!!!!!!!!!!!!! she claimed that she was very strict also when it came to lovers, and said she thought it should be a delicate and romantic experience. 'Geezers have gotta gimme all loads of well nice chocolate and shit before they can stick their dick up my twat' she intoned lyrically.
Her dulcet tones also added 'I'm not all about tits. Some people look at me and they can't get past the tits. But I've got a mega twat an' all.'
I hope this article has silenced all her critics, and we would like to end on this note. While Jordan may seem immensely stupid, crass, promiscuous, talentless, ugly, common and absurd, you must bear in mind that she is also a human being who just needs a bit of love in her life. Or a bullet in her brain. You decide.
Falling Flat in my Flat will not Fall Flat of Expectation Methinks
Well, I have been for a look round my flat. It is green. Need I say more? I imagine you would find it helpful so I will indulge you, you lucky hunks of brain-on-legs.
Green is a colour that the depressed people who design quilt-covers do not seem to warm to. The closest they seem to have managed is a rather insipid turquoise blue and I must admit I would rather hang myself from the doorframe with a measure of piano-wire about my (I'm sure you'll agree) rather snoggable neck.
So, the search for a green quilt-cover continues. If you find one do please let me know, but bear in mind that if I get within ten feet of a 'contemporary' design I am uncontrollably sick, so, to save myself the dry-cleaning costs, please do not recommend anything in that vain.
However, the room itself is splendid, with a large desk and unexpectedly ample bookshelving (although I will have to take more), and a swivel chair that allows me to sweep round the room like an overly-pretentious General Practitioner (please note: I will administer a full psysical for a competative price of £5, wear nice underpants, no time-wasters please.)
The bed is a double (handy!) and the headrest is deep but low and promises a few cracks on the head in the first few weeks.
However, I have an en-suite 'pod' which is small enough for showering and shitting to occur simultaneously (both convenient and time-efficient) but is most admirable in design.
The kitchen boasts an extractor fan with a button labelled PURGE on it - what it does I have no idea but I greatly anticipate finding out - and two fride-freezers, which between five of us is pretty good going.
Security are positively huggable, yet fierce (so everything you could want in security, I feel) and trams stop just outside the flats (the stop is Shalesmoor).
All in all, fairly groovy, I'm sure you'll agree, my delicious readers.
Also, just bought a book by Banachek about psychophysiological mind-reading, the arrival of which I have soiled myself in anticipation of.
Hope all is going well for those wholly-nibbleable readers who are venturing into the great abyss of academia, and one word of advice: buy something in tweed!
Cyber-love, hugs, and frotting,
Your amiable chum,
Robert 'pucker up, Mildred!' Clark xxxxxx
Green is a colour that the depressed people who design quilt-covers do not seem to warm to. The closest they seem to have managed is a rather insipid turquoise blue and I must admit I would rather hang myself from the doorframe with a measure of piano-wire about my (I'm sure you'll agree) rather snoggable neck.
So, the search for a green quilt-cover continues. If you find one do please let me know, but bear in mind that if I get within ten feet of a 'contemporary' design I am uncontrollably sick, so, to save myself the dry-cleaning costs, please do not recommend anything in that vain.
However, the room itself is splendid, with a large desk and unexpectedly ample bookshelving (although I will have to take more), and a swivel chair that allows me to sweep round the room like an overly-pretentious General Practitioner (please note: I will administer a full psysical for a competative price of £5, wear nice underpants, no time-wasters please.)
The bed is a double (handy!) and the headrest is deep but low and promises a few cracks on the head in the first few weeks.
However, I have an en-suite 'pod' which is small enough for showering and shitting to occur simultaneously (both convenient and time-efficient) but is most admirable in design.
The kitchen boasts an extractor fan with a button labelled PURGE on it - what it does I have no idea but I greatly anticipate finding out - and two fride-freezers, which between five of us is pretty good going.
Security are positively huggable, yet fierce (so everything you could want in security, I feel) and trams stop just outside the flats (the stop is Shalesmoor).
All in all, fairly groovy, I'm sure you'll agree, my delicious readers.
Also, just bought a book by Banachek about psychophysiological mind-reading, the arrival of which I have soiled myself in anticipation of.
Hope all is going well for those wholly-nibbleable readers who are venturing into the great abyss of academia, and one word of advice: buy something in tweed!
Cyber-love, hugs, and frotting,
Your amiable chum,
Robert 'pucker up, Mildred!' Clark xxxxxx
Friday
University
Ahhh, the mammarian world of the Great Unwashed invites me to nestle in its great cleavage and drink the milk of education. How very exciting!
Having obsessively researched the city of Sheffield to find everything I will need (i.e. the tobacconists on Exchange Street, the coffee shop on Eccleshall Road and an amusing street name: the street where the police station headquarters is located - Letsby Avenue - I shit you not), I feel I am now fully prepared to press my cup to this educational tit and cry 'fill me up!"
I have spent most of the recent days engrossed in shopping, where I have acquired a range of snazzy new vetements des flaneurs, and little bits and pieces to colour me a proper student.
And I have a few pieces of information for those of you going to university.
Firstly, buy some red peppers. They are great raw in salads and can spice up even the most boring pie (i.e. lentil) plus they are really good for you!
Secondly, do not look at internet porn. It would be awful to come away from uni (excuse the expression) and think you could have done better had you spent less time wanking, and the world of adult entertainment is one designed to keep you in its grip (again, excuse the expression).
Thirdly, drink lots of water.
Fourthly, come visit me. Without this final, and most important point you are sure to forget me, and it is scientifically proven that when I am consigned to the subconscious I become utterly irresistable to the point where you will sudenly think of me during orgasm without any logical explanation. By the way, I realise some of you may already think of me during sex to delay orgasm, but that's not what I mean - and frankly, if you do, I am offended!
I am also going to see Julian Clary and Eddie Izzard at the Sheffield Arena and am tres exited about that!
Love xxx
Having obsessively researched the city of Sheffield to find everything I will need (i.e. the tobacconists on Exchange Street, the coffee shop on Eccleshall Road and an amusing street name: the street where the police station headquarters is located - Letsby Avenue - I shit you not), I feel I am now fully prepared to press my cup to this educational tit and cry 'fill me up!"
I have spent most of the recent days engrossed in shopping, where I have acquired a range of snazzy new vetements des flaneurs, and little bits and pieces to colour me a proper student.
And I have a few pieces of information for those of you going to university.
Firstly, buy some red peppers. They are great raw in salads and can spice up even the most boring pie (i.e. lentil) plus they are really good for you!
Secondly, do not look at internet porn. It would be awful to come away from uni (excuse the expression) and think you could have done better had you spent less time wanking, and the world of adult entertainment is one designed to keep you in its grip (again, excuse the expression).
Thirdly, drink lots of water.
Fourthly, come visit me. Without this final, and most important point you are sure to forget me, and it is scientifically proven that when I am consigned to the subconscious I become utterly irresistable to the point where you will sudenly think of me during orgasm without any logical explanation. By the way, I realise some of you may already think of me during sex to delay orgasm, but that's not what I mean - and frankly, if you do, I am offended!
I am also going to see Julian Clary and Eddie Izzard at the Sheffield Arena and am tres exited about that!
Love xxx
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