Archive for the Things Rank And Gross In Nature Category

Frain on Film – Eat Some!

Posted in Things Rank And Gross In Nature with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on June 20, 2009 by Buck Frain

OK, so I’ve been pretty absent of late and today I’m trading boundless rage for shameless self-promotion but there is a time for everything.

A most excellent Melbourne film maker, Craig Fox, has adapted my post about The Jesus Spoon into a short film starring none other than Ian Smith, best known for his role as Harold on Neighbours.

ian_smith_jesus_spoon

I’ve seen the film and it’s a fucking champion so I urge all you lovers of film, Frain, Jesus and/or dog shit to logon to the I.F. Awards and support independent film by voting for this haunting tale of youth and culinary experimentation.

Thanks for your support and I’ll write again soon…something’s bound to shit me off pretty soon!

NO NO NO NO NO!!!

Posted in Things Rank And Gross In Nature with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on April 8, 2009 by Buck Frain

No no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NOOOOO NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!

 puzzlebox

People are twisted and people are stupid and some people are just completely fucked. Kes, you bastard, you sent me a truly horrible link. I have no words other than NO! I am really regretting my own curiosity, I feel very unwell. The internet is a stupid, ugly place filled with puerile depravity.

 

If someone presented you with a Hellraiser puzzle box, would you try to solve it?  This link recently sent to me by a complete bastard, is just such a thing, except you don’t need any puzzle-solving abilities. If you haven’t heard about jarsquatter, be warned – IT IS FUCKING WRONG! YOU WILL NOT LIKE IT! I DO NOT LIKE IT! IF YOU CLICK THE LINK AND DON’T LIKE IT, DON’T BLAME ME BECAUSE I’VE ALREADY TOLD YOU IT’S VERY, VERY NASTY!

 

So why did I post it then? I don’t know…

  1. I haven’t had much time so it’s been a while since I wrote anything
  2. Seeing this really fucked up my calm today
  3. I’m a cunt and thought I’d share my nausea.

Have a nice day!

Hunting The Bogeyman.

Posted in Things Rank And Gross In Nature with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on February 7, 2009 by Buck Frain

OK, so here I am. Again. Back at my stupid, stupid, fucky old job facilitating the acquisition of accurate research data for sociopathic multi-nationals. Ticking boxes and going through the motions for malevolent, imbecilic and monstrous bints. Yeah, it sucks but what really fucks with me is how the cancer of toxic personality trickles its way down the corporate ladder infecting everyone in the whole organisation.

I went to the staff toilet on our floor today. I think it’s the first time I’ve been to the toilet whilst at work since I’ve been back. No, not because I’m afraid, but because I don’t drink enough water, although after today’s experience I don’t want to go back. Standing at the urinal I couldn’t help but notice that the wall at eye level was spattered with bogeys. I’m not talking about a dried phlegmy spit which is gross but quite common to see in male toilets, but a serious spattering of crusty boogers.

I examined the form and pattern trying to work out what the volcanic arsehole was going on. There was no way this was just an unguarded sneeze, there must have been over 100 of them. This was a conscious and premeditated work undertaken over months while I’ve been absent. It was a veritable nose-goblin collection that Stimpy himself would have been proud of. I was fucking appalled!

stimpy_nose_goblins

So, was the Bogey Collector just leaning back while pissing and blowing the loose bogeys out onto the wall? No. I don’t think so. That may have been how it started but it had since gotten way out of control. He really liked this. He liked putting the bogeys up and he loved that they were staying there and that there was nowhere else to look but at them. There were some that were definitely picked, I could see what looked like smear marks trailing from some of them. This meant he was standing there, pissing, dick in one hand, other hand stuck up his nose fishing out grunties and then wiping them on the wall. Now that is just cunting well wrong! I don’t blame the cleaners for not cleaning the bogeys off. That’s not their job, this is vandalism, this is some crazy fucking act of mucus terrorism. ONE OF THEM HAS A CUNTING GREAT HAIR IN IT, FOR SHIT’S SAKE!!! Quick – call forensics! I need that fucker DNA tested so I can track this snot-fiend down.

I left the toilet. Nauseated. Outraged. Bogeys on the fucking wall! WHY!!! It doesn’t hurt The Wobblers, they don’t use the gents…maybe they do – eew!!! As a form of protest it is completely redundant. It’s just fucking gross. It only serves to further demoralise people who hate being there anyway. Even the most inarticulate graffiti has a message, this has no message… Or does it? Is it just a pure emotional expression? Is it a visceral interpretation of the rage generated by corporate containment and the impotence of the individual? Is this the post-modern answer to conventional graffiti? Could this be the future of street art? NO! NO! NO! IT’S NOT AND IT SHITTING WELL COULDN’T!! IT’S BOGEYS ON A MOTHER-FUCKING WALL!!! IT’S FUCKING FILTHY AND WHEN I FIND YOU, BOGEY COLLECTOR, I’LL FUCKING EXPOSE YOU FOR THE SHIT-EATING, CUNTFUL DEVIATE YOU ARE!!!

DON’T SMEAR YOUR FUCKING BOGEYS ON WALLS!!!

I WILL FUCKING FIND YOU!!!

ARSE!!!

 

Free Vegan Porn!!!

Posted in Things Rank And Gross In Nature with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on September 27, 2008 by Buck Frain

I’m interrupting the important series on share-house living to bring you this important bulletin. I have discovered a new and exciting genre in the diverse realm that is pornography – VEGAN PORN!!!

I felt it was only fitting to try and give something to all those people who have stumbled onto this site looking for wank fodder and have felt ripped off because it was all just obscene language and spite.

Vegan porn is pretty out there but it is new and entirely meat-free  with no connection whatsoever with animal products or flesh of any kind. I have included two examples from my own extensive vegan porn library and I can safely say that no animals were in anyway involved in its production, unless I count because I took the photos and I’m made of meat.

My first example is this nubile, barely-legal, virgin poppy. Ooh yeah, she’s young and she’s gagging for it.

 

And my second is this one below – my favourite TILF (Tree I’d Like to Fuck) Just look at this mucky old slapper, she’s bang up for it any old time! This dirty old bitch has been around and seen it all – just count the rings!!!   

 

You people are fuckin’ sick, they’re plants! JESUS!!! No, seriously, I don’t judge anyone for their sexual orientation. Whatever floats your boat – ya sick fucks! By the way, if anyone has any more vegan porn whether it’s floraginas, cuntrees or rootable fruits, I’d be really interested in it – from a purely academic standpoint, you understand. Please send all herbaceous whacking material to buck.frain@gmail.com  If it’s any good I may even post it here – I’ll credit you, of course! Stay freaky!

Tumour Boy Vs. Spaz Hand

Posted in Things Rank And Gross In Nature with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on September 11, 2008 by Buck Frain

 

Until recently, I had a vaguely repugnant growth on my wrist. It was a hard lump, a nodule about the size of a pea. It had been there for a few years and was originally scar tissue from an ancient and very trivial injury that, instead of having the decency to fade away like Andrew Ridgeley, decided it wanted more of the limelight like Kate Ceberano and began to build itself into my conjoined twin. There was no real problem with it being there other than it wasn’t paying rent and it grossed people, most importantly women, out. So, on the tried-and-true principle that chicks dig scars more than benign fibrous tumours, I decided to have it lopped off.

 

A simple plan to be sure, went in for day surgery, surgeon cut it out – ugly fuckin’ thing, looked like a Cronenberg version of the ball that rattles ‘round in a referee’s whistle. Sadly, he wouldn’t let me keep it, I wanted to sell it on eBay – stitched it up with three little sutures and that was it.

 

I had an appointment with the surgeon a week later to have the stitches taken out. Hmm…fuck that, I thought. Why pay some over-educated git $50 to take out stitches? Anyone can take stitches out, I’ll take the bastards out myself. I sterilized the nail scissors and took out the stitches – easy. Feeling terribly proud of myself I leant back and stretched my hands out in front of me and pop!

 

Fuck! I’d ruptured the wound and now had a gaping hole in my wrist rapidly filling with thick gelatinous blood. Whoa! Strangely, it didn’t hurt but it did make me feel decidedly queasy. I locked up the house and made off to the nearest hospital’s emergency department.

 

There really is no-one like a doctor to making you feel like a twat. I had to ‘fess up to taking out my own stitches and toolishly popping the wound open. The doctor did his disapproving head-shake. Do they learn that in university? Bed-side manner 101 – patronising head-shakes and knowing sighs. Yes, I feel stupid already, my blood is coming out, now shut up and do your job! It turned out that the wound was unclean and needed to be debrided. Ah! No, not my fault! Get fucked! I kept it clean, I fuckin’ did everything I was supposed to, don’t even go there! The fucking stupid surgeon I originally saw fucked up the wound by putting in pissy superficial stitches on the surface of the wound so that beneath the skin it wasn’t held together at all. The wrist is a joint, it flexes, it needed stronger stitches, it wasn’t my cunting fault at all! But would anyone listen to that? Of course not. I took the stitches out myself so everything is my fault. Bah! It’s all cunts!

 

So after cleaning the wound out with a vigour usually reserved for removing baked-on scrambled eggs from old pans, he stitched it up with one hardcore suture and I was on my way with a new dressing and an appetite for codeine.

 

Out of hospital, off to the city. Getting off the tram, trying to avoid getting my throbbing wrist bumped by shit-licking, fuck-faced, spatially-unaware Joes Public who couldn’t wait for people to exit the tram before cramming themselves onto it, I lost my balance. Lurching forward, I reached for a handrail to stop my fall out of the tram, which I misjudged like a fuckstick, catching the back of my thumb on the handrail and following it with the bulk of my body weight. The thumb bent around underneath my hand until it gave a barely perceptible snapping sound. FUCK! FUCK! FUCKING CUNTING BASTARD!!! I cannot express quite how much it hurt. I’m unsure if I was swearing out loud or just muttering incoherently but I shambled around at the tram stop for a few minutes as the pain shot up my arm and my hand blew up into an udder with finger-teats.

 

Gradually, I relaxed enough to do some basic first-aidy tests to see how much mobility/strangth I had. They all hurt really really badly, the thumb was definitely cunted – I crossed the tram tracks and went back to hospital.

 

Same doctor, more humiliation, X-rays. He actually laughed at me and said: You’re not having a very good day, are you? Yes I am actually, sluthead, I normally spend my days with my head up a pig’s rectum and skewers in my testicles so today’s bitching! CUNT!!! No, I nodded and gave a courteous laugh – this guy could still hurt me.

 

The X-rays came back: the thumb was not broken, that’d be too easy – 4 to 6 weeks in plaster? Nah! I have a partial tear to a ligament which is painful but sounds really minor and wussy, and means I have to wear a cast for 8 weeks!

 

Brilliant! Just cunting well brilliant!!! I have to look after my right wrist – not too much lifting or movement there for a week or two and I have a cunting great nylon cast on my left hand and forearm for the next two months. I am domestic comedy. Watch Buck shower! Ha ha!!! See Buck wash the dishes. How many will he break today? Ah, he’s such a cunt!

 

Any sympathy votes I may have scored for the wrist have evaporated with the thumb, it’s too pitiful to be anything but fuckheadedness. I am just a loser now, a figure for ridicule and scorn. That may have never been any other way but the perception was never quite so focused on the truth as it is now. Fuck you, tumours! Fuck you, gravity! Fuck you, the medical profession! FUCK!!!

 

 

The Power Of The Jesus Spoon

Posted in Things Rank And Gross In Nature with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on July 2, 2008 by Buck Frain

When I was three years old there was a strange boy who lived over the road from us. He was only a year older than me but to me at three, he at four seemed huge. His name was Danny, he had red hair, freckles and smelt a bit funny. He was also very strong. I think it must have been summer, I remember it as being hot, I remember the sound of cicadas and that we both wore t-shirts and shorts.

 

The thing that set Danny apart from anyone else was that he always carried with him a tarnished old silver teaspoon with a Christ-like figure on the handle. The photo above is a spoon I found in an antique shop a few years ago, it’s identical to the one Danny used to carry. The antique dealer told me that they came in sets of twelve and depicted the twelve apostles. To me, however, it was always The Jesus Spoon.

 

I don’t remember Danny and I being friends as such or ever playing together. I do remember being over at his house once. We were in his front yard one afternoon and he had his Jesus Spoon. He led me over to a big piece of dog shit on the lawn and we looked at it for a while. It was quite fresh and probably came from his dad’s dog, Brutus, a German Shepherd that scared the absolute piss out of me even from across the road.

 

Danny dug a scoop of shit out of the glossy turd on the lawn with The Jesus Spoon. If not for the odour it could have been a scoop of chocolate mousse. I watched with fascination as he turned the spoon and put it into his mouth poo-side down and drew it back out clean. He moved the shit around in his mouth and swallowed. From his mouth movements it looked as though some of it had stuck to the roof of his mouth like peanut butter. The thing that amazed me was that he did it and didn’t appear to be suffering. How did it work?

 

He dug out another scoop and offered it to me:

 

Try some. It’s nice.

 

I was unconvinced.

 

No thanks

 

Really? It’s really good.

 

He put the second spoonful of dog shit in his mouth and ate it. It was quite a trick. I couldn’t work out how it worked. Was it the spoon? Did The Jesus Spoon have some magical power over the poo that made it taste like something wonderful? He really was enjoying eating it and it really was poo. This was a very interesting day.

 

He went for a third scoop and offered it to me again. I was starting to feel a bit of pressure, he was 2-0 up on me and I knew that, if push came to shove, he could probably force me to eat it if he chose to.

 

C’mon, try it, it’s really good.

 

Hmm. No thanks. (pause) I’ve seen where it comes from.

 

There, I’d said it. I wasn’t going to be fooled, but how would Danny react? He stood looking at me, spoonful of dog shit in his hand. He looked right into my eyes, taking me in, looking for some sort of clue as to what was going on in my three year old mind. I knew I couldn’t run, he’d catch me easily and force-feed me poo, I just had to stand there and wait.

 

Too bad.

 

He just shrugged and stuck the third spoonful into his mouth and smiled a big gleeful poo-smile. He swallowed it and for a moment I wondered if maybe I really was missing out on something. Only for a moment though, I saw my cue and went home.

 

See ya, Danny.

 

Danny and I never became friends. Our differing views on munching dog turds set us apart. Plus, I didn’t trust that he wouldn’t try and force me to eat the poo one day. He never did, but a few days later he came over to my house and ate some of my dog’s poo.

 

This is my earliest memory and it still haunts me a little to this day. I suppose that’s why I bought a Jesus Spoon and put it on my wall.

Winning The War On Bones.

Posted in Things Rank And Gross In Nature with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on June 28, 2008 by Buck Frain

We win! Australia, the little battler, has won – against insurmountable odds we fought hard to be leading the world in obesity! Yeah, We’re the fattest cunts in the world! Fuck you, USA, you can eat our convict shit, we’re fatter than you bastards! 26% of all Aussies are obese, that’s four million of us – a 33% rise in obesity in the last nine years. Fat Aussies have been gorging their pie-holes for the last nine years to top the USA’s puny 25% obesity rate. Yeah, they’ve got more fatties in total, but per capita we have the most cottage-cheese-arsed, cankled, wheezing behemoths of any nation on the planet! 

 

Doesn’t anybody find any of this remotely offensive? I don’t mean my ruthless attack on the fatties, I mean isn’t anyone offended by the rampant epidemic of bloatedness? We see it everywhere. My two bosses, The Wobblers, are both horrendously obese shit-sacks. Many of the people in the building I work in have Office Body*, you only have to walk down the street to realise that most people are packing some weight, thin people are a serious minority. 

 

But we’re all polite about it – everyone knows the pain of the fatty, Oprah’s made us oh-so aware of the torture it is to be fat. No one wants to point out to their friends or co-workers Hey, you’re becoming a bit of a chunk, should you be eating that? Woe betide the heathen who dared say such a hurtful thing. You insensitive bastard, it’s genetic, his whole family is like that. Um…but he’s eaten two pizzas today…are you sure that’s genetic? 

 

You see, I think that’s part of the problem – it’s politically correct to tell people they’re drinking too much, or that they should quit smoking, but we’re in denial about obesity. You mustn’t tell the fatty they’re fat, they might feel bad about themselves and eat more! Yeah, I know, the fuckin’ fat cunt might eat YOU, you’re just scared! For fuck’s sake, tell her from a distance, the fat fuck won’t be able to chase you for long. 

 

Now before all you fatties out there start sending me death threats, I’d like to point out I’m not advocating everyone need have chiseled abs and cheekbones or plastic surgery themselves to look like Paris Hilton, that’s just another disgusting sickness. What I’m saying is: take physical responsibility for yourself. Be a bit healthy.

  

No-one wants to walk down a street and see a piss-pants drunk sitting there boozing himself into oblivion, nor do you want to see junkies shooting up nor sex addicts jerking themselves off in public. Why not? Because it’s offensive. Obese people are killing themselves with food. I find it offensive to see some filthy, fat pig scoffing into a Big Mac. Most people will walk past keeping their revulsion private but everyone finds it unsettling, even if only on a well-trained, unconscious level. It turns my stomach and I can’t understand why it is no longer acceptable to acknowledge that offensiveness. Even the most compassionate soul has to concede that, on a purely pragmatic level, it’s a massive a waste of resources. On a planet with billions of people barely surviving, these fat turds eat enough each day for a whole family, and in a few years time they’re going to be a massive financial burden on an already strained health system. We all will be paying through the nose to save these fatties from themselves. Maybe they need a dose of reality rather than that second Double Quarter Pounder! YOU’RE FUCKIN’ FAT, FATTY!!! FATTY FAT FAT FAT!!! HAVEN’T YOU HAD ENOUGH FOOD, YOU STINKING FAT CUNT??? What? Chase me, fuckface!   

 

 

*Office Body – a phenomenon where, due to a lack of physical activity, chronic over-eating and a diet of shit, a person becomes overweight or obese and most of their muscles wither away except for a few fingers on the hand that operates their computer mouse. See also Internet Body, Playstation Body or Lazy Fat Cunt.

 

Germophobia, stupidity and poo particles.

Posted in Things Rank And Gross In Nature with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on June 19, 2008 by Buck Frain

Germophobia is stupid, like most phobias I guess. Don’t get me wrong, I’m a big fan of hygiene but, fucking hell people, get it in perspective! The world is a dirty place and you yourself, no matter how much you scrub, are dirty. Yes, you, you dirty bastard! You are fucking filthy! Even when you’re clean you’re covered and filled with all manner of bacteria and microbes. So beyond basic cleanliness you might as well just get over it.

 

I had to have a quick slash in a public toilet today and whilst washing my hands I noticed a guy by the door who was pretending to talk on his mobile phone. Actually faking a conversation and occasionally sneaking furtive looks back at me. Weird. Was he there for a sly bummy?  I wasn’t about to ask, I dried my hands and left. He followed me through the door, I mean immediately behind me. I realised the sad fucker just didn’t want to touch the door handle. What a complete ballbag! How long had he been waiting there? Waiting at the door pretending to talk to his fake friends desperately hoping someone would let him out of the toilet.

 

Get a fucking grip! The same germophobic ballbag would touch door handles everywhere else in his life. Door handles, ATMs, shop counters and money that would doubtlessly have been touched by someone who doesn’t wash their hands. Someone with poo on their hands – maybe not big chunks but poo particles, at least. The harsh reality is that there are poo particles everywhere. Everytime someone farts and you smell it  – poo particles – in your lungs! That’s right someone else’s poo in your lungs. Deal with it! Plenty of people don’t wash their hands after going to the loo, fuckin’ bio-terrorists!, whether for a piss, a shit or even a crafty phone-wank. So it may be piss, blood or jizz particles, whatever it’s got germs in it. Everything does, everything you touch, everything you eat, it all has poo in it. Oh for God’s sake, STOP SCREAMING!!! What are you gonna do? Spend your life wrapped in cling film?

 

Before you go completely berko and start spraying everything in sight with anti-bacterial bullshit spray like those maniacs on the ads, here’s another thought: The sprays only kill 99.9% of germs. I’m going to assume most of you have heard of Darwin and his theory of evolution, survival of the fittest and all that. If you kill 99.9% of the germs regularly, what you’re left with is 0.1% of the germs. What do they do? The don’t just hang out in a little corner minding their own business, they breed. Like bastards! They breed and evolve and get nastier because they can’t be killed by your stupid spray. Don’t believe me? Go to hospital, they’ve got the deadliest bugs ever discovered in your local hospital, that’s why the doctors want you to leave. No, it’s not just to free up beds because the health system’s completely fucked, it’s because the longer you’re there, the more chance there is you’ll catch some really bad shit and die.

 

Remember you have an immune system. Its job is to react against threats to your body by surrounding and destroying them. If you insist on circumventing your own immune system like a namby, germophobic nob-end, it won’t work properly when you need it to. So in conclusion, if you want to stay healthy, wash your hands, keep yourself clean but don’t be afraid to eat a bit of poo every now and then, and for fuck’s sake, don’t fake-talk on your mobile in public toilets waiting for some other fucker to open the door for you ‘cause if I see you I’ll fucking sneeze on you – just to make you lose your mind!

 

http://humor-blogs.com/

The Dehumanising Onset Of Sickness.

Posted in Things Rank And Gross In Nature with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on June 14, 2008 by Buck Frain

Ah, I’m getting sick. It’s absolutely fucked. I could feel the lump starting at the back of my throat and putting just the slightest pressure on my right ear-drum this morning. There was just a hint of a sniffle and I just knew that tomorrow I’ll wake up as sick as a bitch, sore throat, snot factory, hot dry eyes and in a cunt of a mood!

 

I don’t suppose I should be surprised, call centres are breeding grounds for disease. The whole place is a fucking bio-hazard and should be bombed to shit. Sniffling, sneezing, coughing mouth-breathers everywhere. Fuck! I’m an obsessive fucking cleanliness freak at work. We have these alcohol wipes for the headsets, I use about five or six at the beginning of every shift. I sterilize the headset, keyboard, mouse, monitor, desk, everything. Who the fuck knows who was here last? And, fuck, let me tell you there are people who work here who you don’t want to share anything with. I don’t even trust the cups in the kitchen at work. Even if they look clean I hold them under the boiling water tap before using them.

 

But despite my best efforts, flu shots included, I’ve caught something. I fucking felt it all day, it’s like a cloud of retardedness has descended on me. Everything is just a little out of phase, I’m just half a step off normal. I rammed my shin into the corner of the bed while I was getting ready for work this morning. I swore like a bastard. Fuck, it hurt. I poured boiling water on my hand at work while sterilising my cup. It fucking hurt too but wasn’t bad, I put it straight under cold water, it probably won’t even blister. Still, I felt like a tool and it was another sign that something was wrong.

 

I finally decided to go home after I sneezed and everything turned green. Not only did I nearly deafen the guy I was on the phone to, I had viscous green mucous all down my face and in my hand. It was fucking revolting. I excused myself from the call and reached my free hand into a pocket searching for tissue…to no avail, there were none to be found. I started to get up and realised that my headset mic was entirely hidden within an enormous gob of phlegm connected by a green umbilicus to my top lip. The nice goth girl sitting next to me actually dry retched.  I am hideous. I went to the loo, with my headset, cleaned up and left for the day. Ah, kill me!

How To Lose Friends & Gross The Fuck Out Of People.

Posted in Things Rank And Gross In Nature with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on June 12, 2008 by Buck Frain

Am I just old? Am I repressed? Am I a prude? I wouldn’t have thought so, but I have been forced to reconsider. Like most people in the world who aren’t being starved to death by western capitalism, I have a Facebook page, and surprising as it may seem, I have friends. Well…I have people who have added me as “friends” and that’s really what it’s all about – the appearance of popularity.

The problem I’ve always found with social groups of any sort is there are people who are your friends, and then there are people who you’re just supposed to accept because they have some space-time connection to the group. They don’t necessarily fit, and they may give everyone the right royal shits but for some reason no-one has the heart to fuck them off. Note well: If your social group doesn’t have a crap friend like this, have a good think because that crap friend may just be you.

Normally groups find ways of containing the unpleasant or embarrassing behaviour of crap friends Shutup Shon! Don’t worry, he’s OK, he’s just a bit of a tool.  But Facebook removes that ability to contain. It allows crap friends free reign to publish their inappropriateness to your whole social network. It allows the crapness to spew forth like a geyser of well…look up tubgirl if you really want to know. Actually, don’t.

I’ll get to the point. I logged into my profile for the first time in a couple of weeks and was shocked to find one of my brother’s crap friends had sent me a big picture of goatse. I wasn’t familiar with goatse and for those of you who also haven’t experienced it, in the name of taming it down, here’s a jack-a-lantern depiction of it.

Let me tell you, I’m not easily unsettled but goatse is fucking gross. But that wasn’t really what shat me. What really fucked me off was that for a week my real friends had been confronted with a hideous goatse on my page that had not been removed…for a week, therefore lending credence to the notion that I found it funny or acceptable or that it was in some sense my taste. I mean, fuck! People I work with, people I respect are checking my profile and one lowbrow fucker I added out of guilt is fucking my relationships up because he has no sense of the appropriate and has no internal censor. Inappropriate shit should be at least contained to personal emails, not broadcast to everyone you know.

So, before I have my entire social life undermined by one sick bastard, I’m getting honest. I’m doing some Facebook pruning and I urge you to do the same. Anyone who offends me or who I don’t genuinely like is going. That’s it, you’re out, get fucked! If you’re more of a liability than an asset, fuck off! It sounds mercenary, nasty and intolerant but I don’t give a fuck. If I embarrass myself that’s one thing, I’ll even cope with friends embarrassing me, but when some random shitstick vandalises my social page with grotesque fetishist wankery it’s time to cut the ties. NO MORE FACEBOOK GUILT FRIENDS!!! Fuck you, crap friends!