ICELAND rhymes with arrogand

(above: the Icelandic tourism board - from Iceland - is going to use this appealing slogan for the next tourism season: 'it's fine. we didn't want you tourists to come anyway. we've got enough food and drink. we don't need your sympathy. b***** off!')

Iceland has hit the front pages of all newspapers, magazines and some Argos catalogues once again because of its volcanic activity. Though in this case, it has been another volcano the one that has erupted and interrupted the air traffic. As many geologists have stated: 'Eyjafjallajökull is sooo 2010, Grimsvotn is the new must have for this season'. However, this is not my point. Can't you see it? Iceland is a clear example of attention seeking. Iceland is trying to make all Europe turn their heads towards them by, literally, crying and throwing up all over. In short, they are displaying their ability to be annoying to the rest of the continent because no one gives a damn about them. And that's got a name: arrogance.

It is fair to say this is not my idea but an ancient Greek philosopher's I once met (he actually was an old man running a kebab shop in Zante). When I met that wise man he told me: 'I'll tell you what, Icelanders are a piece of s*** compared to the Scottish'. As soon he said this, he disappeared in a deep and creepy laughter. I was genuinely scared. But then he came back with some pitta bread and expanded on his unclear idea: 'It's 2.20 euros, mate'.

I paid no heed to what kebab man taught me that day until the April when the previous volcano erupted. What happened then was that my flight was cancelled, so were many others, and I had to stay in the airport for several days. So what I did in my spare time there was to chat with the Icelanders and try to get a most accurate picture of their arrogance. I will never forget what happened in one of those conversations with Icelanders. It showed me that even the Icelanders you don't expect to be as much arrogant as others can be even more than the rest.

(I: Icelander W: 'we' as in 'we are most amused')

W: Excuse me, are you from Iceland?

I: Yes, where are you from?

W: Nah, you wouldn't know...

I: OK. Do you want some Icelandic biscuits?

W: No, thank you. I find any product from your land repulsive.

I: Fair enough. Is that what you say? 'Fair enough'...?

W: Yeah, whatever. Where about in Iceland are you from?

I: North.

W: Oh, thank God. You are a good Icelander, then?

I:...

W: Oh, yes, we know you lot are trustworthy. I was going to ask, can you do me a favour? Would you mind taking this parcel to my cousin who lives in Iceland?

I: Yes, sure. What's in the parcel?

W: Things. Thingy, thingy, things, things... you'd better not ask.

I: Yeah, OK. Where about in north Iceland does your cousin live?

W: Belfast.

I: I'm sorry, man. But that's not in north Iceland but in Northern Iceland.

W: Yes, and you can take it there and give it to my cousin.

I: But it's not the same country.

W: But you can go to Belfast and give this parcel to my cousin...

I: BUT IT'S NOT THE SAME COUNTRY!!

My heart shattered to pieces. I didn't expect anyone from the north of Iceland to be THAT arrogant with me, after all I thought we were brothers... I only have one word for that: ARROGANCE.

One last thing to Iceland. Iceland: less volcanos and more leprechauns.

THE WELSH PATIENT says: 'My cousin lived in Abbottabad for 5 years. He told me the Bin Ladens were a nice bunch - they even took care of his cat when he went on holidays to Port Talbot.'

Junkies are fun, innit?

(above: 'tomoz evening I'm gunna quit charlie.' well done, kate! reading snoopy at your age wasn't good for your mental development)

Since the dawn of mankind, human beings have always needed somebody to look down on and laugh at in the most disgusting way. Cavemen had crippled, Greeks and Romans had crippled with mental diseases and Medieval people had crippled with mental and skin diseases. However, since the dawn of prostheses, the number of crippled has been slowed down yet made up and the man of this day and age has run out of humourous outcasts.

This is why, I took the liberty of doing research by myself and find the new kind of these, the working class of hilarity. At first, I tried to find the ever-lasting crippled community among us to see whether I could return their place in history. I could not. I did my best, though: I stole protheses all over the place, I put shopping trolleys at every parking lot provided for this collective, I addressed to everyone with any physical disease with derogatory terms in the rudest way possible but no effort was fruitful.

Nonetheless, when I was released from prison, some bloke high on *sweets* came to me and asked me for some change. I was so happy then I gave him a fiver. When he saw the Queen's face on that green disease-packed paper he got so over the top that he pissed on his pants. This made my head lightbulb turn on, I was fondly amused by this broad daylight live sketch. So I thought drug addicts could be the pariah of laughter of the 21st century. Yes, sir! I would like to ask you that whenever you encounter one of these wanting some spare change for a train ticket to Bridgend or for a birthday cake, give them a big fat amount of cash. You won't regret, I bet you will get a big deal of humour or knife stabbings, you patronising middle-class bastards.

Have a good day!

THE WELSH PATIENT says: 'Did you know that now I hold 51% of shares in Microsoft? Yes, it's been tough work... Bill Gates is not that easy to stab!'

"War is stupid and people are stupid" said Boy George

(above: I love this book LOL jk I don't suffer from mental retardation. I prefer the film. Indeed, I hate cinema as a whole.)

Even though I have always stated in my private life that people are scum, some people say that you should have planted a tree, had some offspring and written a book before you die. This made me think two days ago when I started to question myself some major issues regarding my existence in this very planet.

First I considered planting a tree because it seemed to be the easiest from those three tasks to do before I die. However, ten (10) seconds later I remembered some charity bloke (aka, there's some environmental stuff going on in America, give me some quids) telling me somebody else's entire life for a living who afterwards I saw talking quite easy with some other bloke giving out flyers. 'You know what?', I thought, 'The environment shouldn't make these PR blunders. P*** off, Al Gore! I'm not planting that tree.' Why then? Am I planting some tree to promote the saddest yet filthiest clubs in town? No way.

Then, the having some offspring thing came up. Although my addiction to Marmite could turn into impotence in the future, I'm afraid, it is definitely in my 'to do' list Top 5, so let's hope it'll happen sometime and this great gene pool is not lost. Fingers crossed. Still, I'd better not irate even more the environment, for it can pay me back sooner or later with the already mentioned impotence as well as its friends, the saddest yet filthiest clubs in town, since my reluctance to promote those might end up in missing the best gene pools in town, who most certainly attend these, provided I would contribute merely and exclusively to the intellectual bit of this gene pool.

After admitting that not having any legitimate offspring at all will be most certainly a fact in the next decade, I started thinking of writing a book. Not a novel, definitely. I personally can't write about some fellas without getting really fed up with them and incidentally killing them at some point to finish off at once. That's how being given 3 ASBOS is like: one ends up hating human race. It should be some short book that might be really original and can give me big money -of course, I'm not a Medieval monk, I'm a postmodern individual who needs the latest clothing from the 80s but now-. But writing a book, even a short one, is really exhausting and demanding if I really want to keep my even more exhausting and demanding binge drinking student life.

That is why that eventually I decided to leave these tasks but always have the loose idea of doing them at some point in my life, but not now, probably next friday (evening) or in 20 years time. Actually, I'm not doing it for the sake of being lazy and hedonist. I do it for a really good reason: once a man or a woman accomplished those three tasks in life, they simply lay back and think they're done and then they die because of their self-complacency. If I always have it planned but I end up doing nothing, then you don't rest on your laurels and you are always aware of doing them hence living longer. In short, the secret to a longer life, even immortality, resides in planning a lot of interesting things in the long run but not carrying them out ever. There you go.

THE WELSH PATIENT says: 'Aw! So that's the secret to a longer life... Could you believe that I was taking the advice of a doctor? Well, I think I won't need those pills for my double heart bypass anymore. I'm planting a tree now... or maybe next century in the afternoon'

Search me and call me darling

(above: 'did you pack your luggage yourself?' 'yes...' 'then what's these elbowed arms from legoland?')

As usual during Easter holidays, European countries claim their citizens who are abroad back. Therefore, one had to go back to one's place -close to capital city Lloret de Mar- and spend one's Easter time there.

To do so and for various geographical and obvious reasons, I had to fly back by plane. As you might know, in order to catch a plane somebody has to go to an airport first -unless somebody has a private jet in somebody's garden-. However, being in a tiny British airport, far from corny stand-up jokes about awful food on board, losing everyone's luggage and complaints about cheap airlines facilities, is way more than a place where you get a plane to a poorer European country for pleasure -also known as continental safari-. In that airport you can find, for instance, true love. I myself found true love for the first time in my life without spending any amount of currency.

It was when the metal detector. While I was taking all my metal stuff and my Middle Eastern clothing as well as my ankle gun I saw a ginger bloke behind the detector that was sexily searching an elderly Irish man and I couldn't help falling in love with him. So I deliberately put a 2-pence coin in the tiniest pocket I could find in my trousers. Then everything was history:

'Come forward, please', said GB -for Ginger Bloke, or Bollocks-.

The metal detector bleeped out in slow motion.

'Have you got any metal item with you, sir?'.

'No, as far as I'm concerned', I lied.

'Take your shoes off, please sir', the now close and smelly ginger replied.

I thought it was going too fast but I agreed, I took my shoes off.

'May I proceed to search you, sir?', he inquired.

While he was searching my body in even slower motion, suddenly he found the coin.

'Aw, I didn't notice -sweety-'.

'No problem, for I am Ginger Searcher'

'Ginger Searcher, I'll never forget you. You save all flights from terrorists and other menaces as well as my heart.'

After this short but intense true love story, I collected my shoes, my Middle Eastern clothing and my ankle gun I forgot to give back to my inspector when I gave up the homicide department. Nevertheless, later on an overweighted Ryana*r hostess hit me with the corporation magazine in my head and I have completely lost the part of my brain in charge of my feelings.

THE WELSH PATIENT says: 'Don't you hate it when you are served horrible food on board and they lose your luggage? I do. I'm very observant although I've never flown by plane.'

I love it and they will as well (2)

PHYSIOLOGICAL/PHYSICAL INTELLIGENT BANTER

(above: alright, let's ignore the woman on the right hand side has no age/belly/shirt to wear such piercing. Oh, look! An elderly man laughing at you in the foreground!)

It has been a while I haven't focused on manners towards elderly people. Since Britain has been deliberately isolated from the rest of Euroscum, European social trends have arrived a bit later to the islands and it's my duty, yet I come from the old -and dirty- continent, to bring all these trends here and make Britons aware of what they're missing out at the moment.

Today's trend involves, surprisingly, elderly people. Often you listen to some elderly -which incidentally is out of date in Europe, everyone who listens to old is an outsider- complaining about their health, especially their back. The European trend is, if you by chance listen to one of those complaining about their spine, drop an Euro -a Pound's way better- to the floor and when he goes and bends over to get it you might either come across one of these options:

1. He gets the coin and gets back to his original standing position. In such case you should ask politely the money back and then swear at him and his relatives regarding his incoherence between his previous statements in relation to his health and his actual state of health.

2. While he is bending over he gets stuck at a certain disgraceful position and he'll ask for your help. In such case you should say that you are in a hurry, get the coin, stick your bum up to his face and fire and then leave.

Look how good social peace is in Europe nowadays. We should follow their example. Not everything down there is despicable.

THE WELSH PATIENT says: 'What do you mean? Everything in Europe is outstanding! When I went to Amsterdam I eventually found true love... at a reasonable price, eventually'

I saw the Soviet Union collapse!

(above: the cross between a human and a jellyfish was eventually a success)*

*: The people born in the early 1990s demand The Goonies 2 although most of them haven't seen the first one. Simply because the 80s rock despite the fact we were just a future project by a couple of young teased-hair mates at that time! Look at those retro Adidas tracksuits and trainers and those Top-Gun-like sunglasses!**

**: Young adult born in the early 90s, I bet you'll look awezome and different if you wear an Adidas tracksuit top, Ray-ban Wayfarers, and a Peruvian hat and talk about how slow Spectrum 48k loaded games or how good used to be the music in the 80s.***

***: By the way, to whom it may apply -and boys too-, don't forget to grow a moustache!

I acknowledge that it's been a while I haven't updated this blog, but I have to admit that I couldn't be arsed. Until today!

'What? Do you have anything special to tell us?'

No, interior voice that appears at intermittent intervals of time in my head ever since I ate those mouldy mushrooms at the 40th Anniversary of Woodstock Festival sponsored by Nike and Pepsi with such an essential line-up: Jay-Z, Timbaland, Courtney Love and Sean Lennon. It's only that today I feel like it.

Today's topic is a serious issue: people born twice!

Basically, all the technological achievements done during the 80s and 90s have allowed a generation to bring themselves to live autre fois. People born in the 90s think they had a previous life during the era of shoulder pads and people born in the 80s have had a childhood déjà vu and have gone back to it -like one of the most favourite films amongst 1990ers, Back To The Future-.

Forget about serious debates such as abortion, euthanasia or John Terry's private life. This is far more important. This affects so directly to our society foundations.

Political consequences: Conservatives will be back, which is not bad by itself, but the reason why Tories will gain power it's going to be 'Thatcher made Britain rock! Look at that world map... Malvi...what? again? Cool!'

Economical consequences: Mines will re-open and will re-close-down again. Britain will be holding relations with the rest of the UE back and... oh, whatever.

Cultural consequences: Only three (3) words: Police Academy 8.

My advice: get your gun and Michael Jackson's Thiller single CD -because being born in the 90s and listening to vinyl discs is nothing but snob- and play it as loud as you can. As soon as you see people under 30 approaching doing the moonwalk shoot them and shout: 'This dance move is from Billie Jean, you ignorant!'

THE WELSH PATIENT says: 'I hate people born in the 1880s who claim to have fought in the Boer Wars and WWI so I had to kill them all by holding back my plan to achieve world peace.'

At home he feels like a tourist

(above: 'Let's pose as if I care about other cultures in a cosmopolitan city... perfect. Now, p*** off!')

I know it's been too long before updating the blog, but I've been really busy seizing the day. Because actually, seizing the day is an attitude towards life that takes you time and money -mostly money-. However, I'm having a break between drunkenness and hedonism to write some sensible stuff.

Tourists. What's wrong with them? Why do they speak like that? Why are they always asking stuff you already know? They culturally smell!*

There you go some piece of advice from me to you, potential tourists. If you are happily walking down the street thinking of abstract things such as planning an armed robbery to your local NatWest branch or writing a poem to John Terry's wife -buddies, take advantage of this situation yet now the marriage is at its lowest- and then a (damned) tourists approaches to you asking for any direction in your city you should do either:

a) Tell him the wrong place, or even better, send them to a conflictive neigbourhood in the outskirts. He or she wouldn't tell the difference.

b) Make him stay with you until he pronounces English properly, even if he says the correct words in an understandable way, pretend you didn't get it. For God's sake, people born in Britain have learnt English by heart, why should those sweaty foreigners don't speak English? They think they're better than us, eh? No way. Once he pronounced perfectly his request, send them to a conflictive neighbourhood, just for a bit of fun. Brits love comedy.

* This might not apply to British tourists, who are completely polite and try to understand any local culture they come across by attending local history and art museums, also known as culturally thirsty -stressing the thirsty part of it-.

THE WELSH PATIENT says: 'I myself went to Bristol as a tourist. Apparently they didn't allow any sheep to any public transports and, what's worse, they didn't speak even a word of Welsh!'

The key to social peace!

(above: Omar Pedro Mendez from the town of China, TX was a person really prone to get lost wherever he went. That's why he was tattooed a world map up his bum in order to end with his problem and demonstrate a theory of his that claimed a man could see his own back if he spins fast enough)

Even more people now is concerned that something is wrong with social climate. Loads of people in the big cities feel themselves as a tiny part of a meaningless mob and, as a consequence, irritation arises modifying and breaking the mentioned social climate. Nothing makes the difference among one another as an individual in this dull lifestyle. We all look like and act the same all the time.

For this reason, philanthrope me, I have stumbled upon a definite and easy solution that will certainly amend part of this sensation of uniformity so present in our cities: tattoos. I don't mean ordinary tattoos with ordinary motifs but DYNAMIC TATTOOS.

What are dynamic tattoos? Dynamic tattoos are changing, personalised and funny -rather wacky- tattoos that will make you complete difference from any other individual around you and will be the perfect combination for your individual self-identity. There you go some examples:

If you're called, for instance, Nigel Fitzcharles and you work as a writer in a top-shelf magazine:

- Tattoo on your right bum cheek the word 'ink'. Your 'dynamism' will consist in, every time you bend over, 'ink' will turn into 'oink'. Therefore, from the moment you show the dynamic tattoo in public on you'll be known as Nigel 'The One Who Writes Dirty Things As His Bottom Claims' Fitzcharles.

Or if you're called Adolf Goldberg and nobody remembers your name:

- Tattoo on your bum* Adolf Hitler. Your 'dynamism' will consist in, every time you bend over, your Hitler up your bottom will shout 'woooooOOOOO!'. Therefore, from the moment you show the dynamic tattoo in public on you'll be known as Adolf 'The Ironically-named Jew Who Laughs At His Own Roots' Goldberg.

You don't have to thank me for this brilliant idea. Just make a film based on my life in which Antonio Banderas plays as me.

*Actually, you can have your dynamic tattoo somewhere else. However, the 'dynamism' is less funny.

THE WELSH PATIENT says: 'I myself have a tattoo. It's on my chest. It says 'Neil Kinnock for Prime Minister rules!'.'