"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'

Björk-Al-Qaida connection

(above: visible singer dressed in invisible clothes during a meeting at the office of his invisible manager discussing her next record deal, 130x80cm, b/w, google images (c))

There are only two things that really piss me off: people who hate foreigners and Icelanders. Today I'm going to deal with the latter. What has Iceland given to us? Let's check our mental Wikipedia. Let's see... mhhh. Cod? Gudjohnsen? Björk?

Who needs cod?-- well, I do. A fish and chips without a cod fillet is nothing. But who needs Gudjohnsen?-- Probably his wife and his mother. They need to feel his presence, too (not football, definitely). But who needs Björk? Relatives? Don't think so, her parents were a couple of beatniks. Music? Are you serious? Cinema? She and her worst enemy Dogma-bollocks Lars von Trier should be locked at Universal Studios Theme Park in Orlando (FL) and experience what commercial and therefore proper cinema really is.

Alright. Once set that we don't hate everything that comes from Iceland but Björk and making my first statement just pretentious and an easy plagiarised joke from Austin Powers 3: Goldmember, me, as a top international affairs analyst, 'is' going to link the first thing we fear from Iceland and the first thing Westeners fear: Al-Qaida.

*ALERT: if you have read the news lately you already know what I'm going to talk about. so go and enjoy this lovely weather outside and chase squirrels in the park or even better, poke with a stick any random corpse you might find anywhere if you live in a council house. and if you're single or sommin you should just type in another sort of website rather than a blog, don't you think so?*

The link is easy. Apart from Björk, what else do we hate that would come from Iceland? Volcano ash -read the news, mate!-. What has this ash done to faithless Europe? Collapse the main airports in idem. Who else tried so? Al-Qaida. Therefore, Björk has links with the radical Islamic organisation and she wants to exterminate Western culture, in such case culturally.

We need to take action on this: re-open Guantánamo Bay detention camp as a detention camp for culture terrorists. More pop singers and less underage innocent prisoners is my main message.

Next week's witch hunt: Comrade Cyrus?

THE WELSH PATIENT says: 'Go Clegg for PM! Didn't you want the silly weekly statement?'

Demagogy for Dummies (II)

(above: Omar Pedro Gimenes was once the governor of Idaho. weeks after he had the charge, he was accused of raping young ladies in a blue '76 Chevy van. evidences? just the glasses he wore and that...)

Get ready for another dose of demagogy for dummies -Superfluity? Maybe-. Today, we're dealing with politicians. Indeed, politicians, the ones who use the rhetoric power of language to persuade masses the most.

However, I'm not having a go with them today but with the 98% of the population who are more than qualified to be political commentators on the BBC even though, due to unexplainable reasons, they can't make it to our public broadcaster. Instead, we might find them in pubs, bus stops, council houses or even newsagent's -most likely because the idea of working at a commercial TV station doesn't appeal too much to them-.

These political commentators use, in general, these sentences as follows:

- 'They're all lazybums' (yep, you drinking pints of lager on a couch is reactivating economy, thank you for that!)

- 'That's what our taxes are for, then?' (usually used when one trips over the pavement and falls ridiculously onto the floor, or similar)

- 'I see, first foreigners and then us. (Whispering) They invading us!' (Easy, a friend of mine can provide you a Bangladeshi passport. you might get it half price if you buy a Sri Lankan. But shush, this may be a bit dodgy to say out loud)

Eventually, they end up with a:

- 'If I wuz oop 'ver...' (usually this sentence remains unfinished. when finished, not really often it's followed by a political programme).

Sometimes, recent situations that went through the news commonly generate new sentences. The not long past plane crash involving the Polish government in Russia have created a series of hardcore versions of the previous:

- 'Dunno why Poles still cry plane thing and that. I wish it had happened in my country...' (probably, the worst excuse to open a bottle of champagne)

- 'The Russians! They never learn! WW3!' (utterly real following to this: 'I, (name), can't die without living a World War')

In short, listen to those people, for they own the country's wisdom and they shall rule us all if they claim to do so. But please, one at a time.

THE WELSH PATIENT says: 'I myself know loads of politicians. They're really nice and care about social minorities. Last week I went to a döner-kebab shop for a health and safety check with a friend of mine who is a politician and told them to give a little change -£3,000- to help a poor Pakistani man called Mr. Bribe about to close down his business or so.'

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!'