Staring at breasts

It's fascinating, finding out how people get referred to this blog. I'm sure everybody has a look to see what Google or MSN search terms people use.

Here are some good ones from the past day or so.

A visitor from Kuala Lumpur asks: "Is it wrong to stare at women's breasts?" . To put your mind at ease, no, it's not wrong at all. Certainly not if they're a nice purt pair that are worth having a good ogle at. Of course, some ladies may object, but I'm sure most would find it quite flattering.

Then again, if you happen to be a Muslim - as you might be, judging from your location - then YES! It's extremely wrong to stare at women's breasts and you should be throroughly ashamed of yourself. You're lucky not to have your head lopped off for even thinking such vile things. Perv.


Another visitor from Australia has just found me by searching for "the kill ers wallpaper". No idea, sorry.


Some others include:

• "hairy people"
• "videos of manky mating"
• "heather mills mccartney hate"
• "twat"
• "twat sniffer"
• "sniff my cunt"
  

I think we're seeing a theme here. Dirty fuckers.


Wet
It's been raining for the past 12 hours. Shitting weather.

What would I have done if the weather had been fine?

1. Washed my car
2. Gone for a walk up a hill
3. Raked up the leaves from the front lawn
4. Helped Dad erect a fence (MSN search: "erect dad")
5. Sat and pissed about on the internet all day

I'm going for number 5.


Pork
There's a very Piggy feel to the weekend. Not only has blogworld been shocked and worried by that cunt Piggy being put to the mercy of the NHS , but I've been going mad buying all sorts of pig-products .

I love pork products and pigs have got to be the absolute BEST animals on the planet for the variety of meats we can get from them. Not only that, they're cute little (big) buggers when they're not slaughtered and chopped up into various bits of things. It's true when they say "You can eat everything except the squeak".

I just wish meat didn't come from animals, it's a real shame.


The smell of Sunday
In a line from kd lang's Summer Fling, she sings "The smell of Sunday in our hair, we ran on the beach with Kennedy flair".

Oh if only I could get the smell of Sunday out of my hair. The smell of Sunday chez Sniff is a mixture of persistent Dad poo and boiling veg.

I've no idea what it is about my dad's Sunday poos, but he saves up some of the rankest smelling shite for the day of rest. How anybody is supposed to rest with that permeating the house is beyond me. The smell survives open windows and multiple blasts of air freshener. I'm currently trying to keep it at bay with Toilet Duck and a closed toilet lid.

There's something odd about men; they can't just go for a poo, they have to go for a "sit". How can having a poo become an event? Do all men save their poos for a special occasion, or are they generally normal during the week, but have some Y-linked thing that compels them to sit on the toilet for an hour each Sunday, making smells that could fell a herd of buffalo?

Who knows???

I'm off to see if it's safe to lift the lid on the toilet again. I may be some time.