Dundee bukkake parties...

... or "Why might the Queen have been seen using binoculars on 30 April 2009?"

Not my words, ladies and gentlemen, but those of some intrepid Googlers who've landed on Avenues and Alleyways recently.

Well, they certainly knock "Coleen Nolan's tits", "Lorne Spicer's tits", "Kym Marsh's tits", "Sheila Fearne naked" and - worst of all - "Anita Dobson topless" into the proverbial cocked hat!

Anyway, I can't help with the majority of those searches, but for those interested, here's a picture of an attendee at a recent bukkake party in Dundee. What's that musty smell?

[File under "Let's laugh at Google search topics" and "That'll keep the hits coming"]

Bad times

Yesterday, I did something which I can't go back and change; something I've since come to deeply regret...

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I watched Justin Lee Collins' Head Or Tails on Five. I know, I know! It was shite and my actions are totally unforgivable. It. Just. Sort-of. Happened.

I must admit that I began to warm a little to... ahem... JLC during his time on Friday/Sunday Night Project when he was paired up with Alan Carr, but I'm afraid he's now firmly back in my hate zone. Not only was Heads Or Tails even more mundane than its title might suggest, but it was also less entertaining than watching twenty-two identical sealed boxes being opened over the course of forty-five minutes.

I'll never get that time back and now I cant even look at myself in the mirror.

Put 'em in your mouth and suck 'em

So, the power of Facebook and Twitter are demonstrated yet again...

Like many things, they probably have as many good points as bad, so whilst Twitter may given a voice to many a discontented Iranian voter, it - along with The Book Of The Faces - is also responsible for replacing one complete bastard Christmas number one with another.

To be honest though, I'm not really all that fussed one way or another. I always found Rage Against The Machine's corporate-sponsored angst utterly boring and maybe that's because when they were at their most prolific, I was busy rediscovering music with proper tunes (En Vogue's My Lovin', Suede's The Drowners, Saint Etienne's Join Our Club and Maria McKee's Youth-produced joyfest, Sweetest Child being prime examples). For a reasoned argument against the tiresome Let's-Get-"Our"-Christmas-Number-One-"Back" campaign, just read the sentiments expressed by Mr Andrew Collins here (aye... of course, you come to my blog before you go to his... you're only human after all!).

Anyway, the whole point of this post is not to rage against RATM or, indeed, the X Factor. It's just that I'm so surprised that I actually know what is at the "top spot" - festive or otherwise! Putting aside the X Factor's yuletide successes of 2005 to 2008, I really cannot recall the last time I knew what was number one, far less give a shit!

Perhaps it was the time in 1998 when I wanted Chef's Chocolate Salty Balls to beat Spice Girls' Goodbye. And a fat lot of good that did.

I want to gouge my eyes out...

Sigh. I haven't been myself of late.

I don't know why, but I find I am being gripped by an ever-increasing rage at repititious, televised guff. Yes, it's fair to say that I'm always profoundly pissed off at annoying TV adverts and suchlike, but it's got so bad recently that I feel my very will to fucking live is being brutally eroded.

That X Factor/Talk Talk/Brightdancing/Neon Rainbow fucking bollocks is still some time away from disappearing from our screens. The final may very well be next week, but let's face it, there'll be a million and one follow-up shows for weeks to come.

And I was going to write about that fucking Josh cock-end from T-Mobile's latest bunch of arse (why does it always have to be mobile networks?), but I'll direct you towards the peerless Mr Brooker's latest piece instead.

PC World's, "My World Is..." campaign is particularly grating and I see they're back to showing that one with the movie-loving buffoon again. Yes, his world is "all about movies". Well, bully for fucking him, eh? According to the hateful advert, his missus apparently asked him to find a way of streaming his movies from his PC to the main living room TV. Why??? Surely all he needed to do was move his PC and plug the monitor lead into the telly's PC input. DSG's punter-hating staff certainly saw the stupid bastard coming, didn't they? They've only gone and flogged him another piece of kit which he didn't fucking need. What a total fud - he deserves to be ripped off die painfully.

Oh, I'm totally sick of these fuckers. What adverts are currently getting on your tits?

The Croppers will never get custody - he's a loony and she's a man...

The sunshine... throwing me a lifeline

Tuesday 1 December 2009.

It's 7.35am and it's totally, utterly freezing. But just look a this sunrise. No fancy techniques applied to this, just a 7MP Fuji Finepix pointed out the back window looking towards the Forth Valley. Pull apart my ribs and let the sun inside.

Stunning.