The Cervical Civil War

After some self deliberation [with myself] I have come to the conclusion that soon enough I will cut off most of my friendships with friends that happen to be the opposite sex.

But Ben’s that’s sexist, you can’t be sexist!

Wrong! I shouldn’t be sexist, yet I can be sexist. I shouldn’t push an old lady down I flight of stairs, but I can. Do you see the difference?

This has not come about because they are the weaker sex, or anything to do with that, it has come about because of woman’s hate for themselves. So they only have themselves to blame.

Women love to moan, complain and bitch, that’s a scientifically proven fact. But the recent level of moaning, complaining and bitching has reached astronomical levels, so much so that I can no longer bear listening to a female slag off another female. Yeah, it used to be funny listening to one girl slag off another girl behind her back, but I think I’ve well surpassed my quota of bitchiness and backstabbing.

The fundamental relationship between three women goes like this;

Woman #1 talks to Woman #2 about Woman #3

Woman #2 talks to Woman #3 about Woman #1

Woman #3 talks to Woman #1 about Woman #2

With such backstabbing and two faced actions I’m surprised Women were even able to rise up all those years ago and stop being slaves to men. What would Martina Louisa Queen and Michelle XX [Chromosome] have to say about this if they were still alive? It’s almost as if women united, got the vote and thought; ‘Well, now we’re equal to men we have no common enemy, hey, let’s hate each other’.

In the 2005 French film 13 Tzameti people ‘compete’ in a mass game of Russian roulette, in which the individuals stand in a circle, each man pointing a gun at the person in front. They all stare at a light bulb, when it goes on/off they fire. This is the perfect analogy for female relationships, but instead of a gun women are armed with knives and they just keep stabbing each other in the back, then they all turn 180 degrees and begin to stab another woman in the back.

No matter how much feminists want to wave their fishy figures at men and blame them for all their own downfalls, women are much more destructive to themselves then men could ever be. Men maybe sexist, misogynistic and chauvinistic, but it is the envious backstabbing of women that is the real problem facing the female race. A male may call a promiscuous woman a ‘slapper’ or a ‘slag’ to his mates, but it’s the friends of this promiscuous woman that will completely character assassinate the poor girl behind her back to anyone that’ll listen.

But why does this happen? We are women so hell bent on ruining each others reputations and lives?

I don’t know, to be honest, if I did I would be able to bring peace to the female kind. I have my theories, of course, but I have things on everything from religion (total fabrication) to abortion (good stuff).

It’s doubtful that there’ll even be peace between women; we’ll be seeing Palestinians and Israelis skipping around the Gaza Strip hand in hand before females learn to stop bitching about each other at every opportunity. The best advice I can give is just remain out of the way of the crossfire, you never know when you could get dragged into a civil war that you’re not a civilian of.

Mephedrone is for Pussies

Yeah I said it, it’s for pussies!

If you are unsure what mephedrone is, it’s a new drug, it comes in a white powder like coke, it is snorted like coke and it’s shit … like coke [yeah, I said that too]. Mephedrone or ‘Homeless Man’s Coke’ [because it’s not even a Poor Man’s drug] as I like to refer to it as, is currently becoming popular amongst fucking idiots. Many readers will know that I’m quite the advocate for drugs but when it comes to mephedrone I couldn’t give a shit. I know a handful of people have died from taking the drug [along with other drugs, although newspaper’s don’t like pointing that out], I couldn’t give a shit.

Apparently Mephedrone is the 4th most popular illegal drug in the UK, what a pity when there are so many better drugs out there.

Just let me point out that I have made this decision on my own, I have not been influenced by a media campaign against the drug. I couldn’t give a fuck what some scare-mongering journalists think about the substance.

The thing is I’ve tried mephedrone and thought it was shit, yeah it got me a little chatty but that’s about it. Luckily for me there’s already a drug out there that gets me chatty; alcohol, and I don’t have to hide in toilet cubical, knee deep in piss to ‘take’ alcohol. In fact I can drink alcohol in a pub with my friends while being stood in no piss whatsoever.

I thought that mephedrone was so popular because it was legal, when it was made illegal I thought; ‘I suppose people will go back to taking real drugs now’. But they didn’t. They continued to take this cocaine wannabe. But I suppose mephedrone is just the new ketamine (remember how popular that was about two years ago?). In about two years, there’ll be something new to shovel up your nose, so don’t let your septum fall out too quickly.

So why is it for pussies?
Look at the facts, it’s known as ‘MCat’ or ‘Meow Meow’, they are some pussy names for a drug that’s [helped] lead to the deaths of some people. Now it’s illegal, users must deal with real drug dealers instead of buying it as a ‘plant food’ from online, and yet although they’re dealing with drug dealers they don’t buy some real drugs; pills, MDMA or coke. MCat is for indecisive drug users. MCat is like a bicycle with stabilisers. I mean, it’s usually fatal when mixed with other drugs because it can’t do the damage on its own. When legal it was marketed as plant food, quite ironic as now it is used by weeds and vegetables, too scared to do some real drugs. Pussies!

*** If you are an MCat user and you have been affected by anything mentioned above I would like to offer out an apology to your mother for raising a cunt. Get a life or get a real drug habit, you pussy! ***

Ben Broughton’s 2-Point Plan to Save the Economy

I know many people that return to read my Blog have been looking forward to my insightful knowledge and rationality being turned towards something that none of us can avoid; the economy. Seeing as last week David Cameron and one of his millionaire, Tory stooges; Jeremy Hunt [coincidentally he is what his second name rhymes with – and I don’t mean front or blunt*] decided to axe the UK Film Council, it seems as if the only way this current Conservative government can make headway is by cutting and slashing anything, like a knife wielding maniac on crystal meth. So, I’m not one to disappoint [outside of the bedroom], so here it is; a couple of ideas that strengthen the British economy.

The One-Child Policy
I will admit that China did have this idea first, but like an MP dealing with the economy at the minute I’ve simply stole it. Of course, seeing as China’s population is now over a billion I’m not sure if it’s working too well over there, I think us Brits could band together and show them how it should be done.

If couples deluded enough to even want children in the first place simply had one child they could focus all their attention towards it. This is extremely beneficial, although I’m willing to take the chance of making Britain over run with spoilt children. Less children means smaller classes at school, which leads to more attention from teachers, which leads to smarter students, which leads to more intellectual adults (as they grow up), which leads to a better society. At the minute there’s some figure going around explaining how many people are going for one job, I can’t remember the figure and I’m too lazy to Google it, but let’s just say it’s 20 people. After about two decades of The One-Child Policy, that number will be dramatically lower and the skills possessed by those going for the job will be much higher.

I know that this policy is going to be met with a massive backlash, I understand that people don’t want to be told how many children they can have, but you know what; life’s shit and if you don’t like it fuck off to France. I also understand it will take a long time for the benefits of this policy to start taking effect, at least two decades but this is just a testament to my future thinking. I’m not making policies that will make a bit of money here and there now; I’m concentrating on the future of this country.

In a time when the media perpetuates an image of the youth being good for nothing, criminal minded, drug addled, scum living life how they seem fit no matter who it causes problems for, they are bound to back this idea. Fewer children means paedophiles would find it harder to kidnap their victims, so to be against The One-Child Policy is just like saying “Paedophiles are good for England” – you sick bastards.

Plus wouldn’t it just be better to have fewer kids around?

Legalisation of Cannabis
I’ve already talked about how the legalisation of cannabis would deflate the number of stabbings in this country. Although have you noticed that the coverage of people getting stabbed is much lower than it was say two years ago? Nobody in the media seems to care about kids killing each other anymore, not since the economical crisis, but either way legalisation of cannabis is always the answer to whatever problem the media is currently serving up to the fearful population.

Legalisation would benefit the economy in varies ways. Firstly taxing cannabis would create an influx of money towards the government, maybe then they can stop cutting jobs in the public sector. Making cannabis legal would open up new business ventures in the UK, following the model of Coffee Shops in Amsterdam, of course the current (and what some may call fascist) smoking Ban would have to be altered with business owners having to apply for a Smoking Licence, so customers would be able to smoke in their establishments. The legalisation would leave the Police with more money to go after and prosecute ‘real’ drug dealers too.

Legalisation would create so much more money in this country; it’s unbelievable that nobody in power has even suggested it.

*Cunt, Jeremy Hunt is a cunt, in case you didn’t get it.

Mild Irritations (Volume Two)

People that Disrespect DVDs

DVDs are a great invention, without a shadow of a doubt. I have loads, as do most of my friends, I bet even you have some too. I love DVDs and I’m very proud of my collection, because I have an excellent taste in TV Shows, Stand-Up Comedy and Films. I have such a good taste that my friends, eager to be like me ask to borrow them from time to time, I gladly lend them to share this brilliant material. But this is where trouble can arise, because if my DVDs return with damage inflicted on them, I begin to get irate.

To damage someone’s DVD is much like spitting in their grandma’s face. You just don’t do it. It’s wrong, plain and simple. I have a friend back home that I used [along with other friends] used to lend DVDs too, yet this was a massive mistake. Upon going around to his house I would discover my DVDs scattered all over his room so even being used as drink coasters! DRINK COASTERS … people? What the fuck was he thinking? These were exceptional Films and Stand Up, it’s not like I lent him Twilight. This friend’s house later became known as ‘The DVD Graveyard; Where DVDs Go To Die’, although that didn’t really make sense looking back on it, people don’t go to graveyards to die. People go to graveyards when they’re already dead. It should have been; ‘The DVD Euthanasia Centre; Where DVDs Go To Die’.

I did the correct thing in this situation and demanded my DVDs back. Although at this point my temper had reached such a point that mere dialogue was no longer able to flow from my mouth and I could only express my needs [for my DVDs to be returned] by taking a baseball bat to his TV and shitting on his sofa.

But it’s not just people disrespecting my DVDs, if I see an individual remove their own DVD from the DVD Player and not put it in the correct case I look at them as if they’ve just put a cat in the microwave and started cackling at the sight of the cat’s bones deforming and it’s eyes oozing out of it’s skull.

Proper DVD etiquette is vital in this day and age. If we go around not putting DVDs in their correct cases or leaving them by the DVD player in no case at all, then the terrorists have won! Is that what you want? If you leave a DVD out of the case you are basically inviting Osama Bin Laden in to your house. Think about that the next time you watch a DVD.

Ashtrays for Ash

This one is simple, real simple. An ashtray, a simple ashtray has one primary use; it is for ash and cigarettes nubs [or butts, as some people call them]. That’s it, nothing more, nothing less.

An ashtray is not for the plastic film that is wrapped around a new packet of cigarettes. So don’t open a new packet and drop the plastic film into the ashtray because when I go to flick my ash into the ashtray [the primary use of an ASHtray] I don’t want that plastic film melting onto my cigarette. My lungs are already taking a beating from the tar; I don’t want to inhale burning plastic film too.

Upon finishing a packet of cigarettes do not scrunch up the packet and throw it into the ashtray. An ashtray is not a mini bin. I repeat; an ashtray IS NOT a mini bin. A scrunched up cigarette packet takes up most of the space in an ashtray leaving it difficult for the ashtray to act out its primary use. Also, don’t put unused Rizla papers in an ashtray either; they just burn when they come into contact with the cherry of a cigarette. I smoke to inhale burning tobacco, not burning paper.

Other things that shouldn’t be put in an ashtray; used lighters, chewing gum, bits of beer mats, tissue, used condoms, dead pets, baby teeth, jumbo jets … basically nothing other than ash (from a cigarette or joint – don’t try tipping your cremated uncle in an ashtray, I will act violently), cigarette nubs and maybe a used match, but that’s it. Got it? Good!

People that Drink MY BEER

Belittle my culture. Chastise my political views. Denounce my beliefs. Criticize my work. Demean my dress sense. Rubbish my taste in music. Degrade my entire way of life. Condemn my religion. Shag my girlfriend. Slap my mum. Kick my dog. Key my car. Rob my house. Take my life.

But under no circumstances drink my beer.

That’s all I have to say on that topic, no rant needed.

Advert #1 - JML

Although I’m a strict Socialist, I have bills to pay and drugs to buy, so as a means of making some extra income I’ve decided to start adding advertisements to my Blog. I’ve opted to not add the Google Adverts option to my Blog and instead cut out the middle man (in this case Google) and decided to sell Blog space to businesses in a way to make more money. As I don’t want the adverts to ruin my Blog, they have to follow themes that appear in my Blog.

Dealing with Dealers

This world would be a massively different place if there were no drug dealers on it. Many would speculate that it would be much better, others would speculate it would be much worse, as for me I’m currently undecided on the matter. Drugs are bad, but at the same time I do like them, so … I’m kind of sat on the fence whilst smoking a spliff.

The thing is dealing with dealers is a double edged sword. In no way am I saying that any of the dealers I’ve come in contact with have ever been threatening, no I’d take a threatening dealer over the over-friendly dealer. Look at it like this, a drug dealer is providing a service; money exchanges hands and then I get my drugs. That is of course were it should end. But just lately I have started to pick up my ‘medication’ from someone else, whom seems to think that when I call him asking; “You got any weed?” I actually mean; “I want to buy some weed from you and smoke it with you.” This is certainly not the case. MY MONEY, MY DRUGS!

I recently went to pick up and then got invited into the dealer’s house. I had to accept, it’s a good idea to stay on the good side of a person that supplies you with what you want. I thought I’d be simple enough, chill out for 5-10 minutes then I’ll get on my way. We entered his bedroom, it was littered with sweet packets, crisp packets, empty Pot Noodles; it looked as if a fat child had run a mock in a sweet shop. I took a seat and spotted a kettle next to the bed. I got the feeling that this guy hadn’t left this room in a while. The dealer went on to offer me a joint, I accepted, like I said; it’s important to stay on their good side. The dealer than asked me to chip in some weed for the joint, which is quite peculiar, I mean, he is a dealer after all. He was the one offering a spliff to me, not vice versa. Bartenders don’t pour you a pint and then drink half of it. Employees at supermarkets don’t help themselves to the items you’ve just purchased. Therefore a drug dealer shouldn’t be asking his customers for marijuana, it’s a complete role reversal of the relationship of dealer and customer.

Of course I had to give him some, as it’s a vital to stay on the good side of people that sell you your drugs. So he rolled it up, lit it and hit it and hit it and hit it and hit it … this went on for sometime until it finally reached my grasp. As every stoner knows there are unwritten rules to smoking a joint and the number of tokes per person varies from group to group, but from my extensive experience the average number is about three, maybe a couple more if you’re lighting it so you can get it burning correctly. This dealer was hitting the joint so much I thought it’d had fucked his girlfriend. Anyway, I had the joint and had my tokes and passed it back. I was tempted to have some extra to balance out the average but I’m stooped in stoner tradition and like to come across as not being a filthy, greedy bastard. So I passed it back, the dealer reverted back to smoking loads. Sometime passed and I noticed that the joint had been in the ashtray for a while without him picking it up again, by now he was transfixed by his laptop. This was kind of infuriating, as I didn’t want to be there, yet I’d stayed to be friendly and stay on his good side and I was being ignored. He didn’t need me there; all that was happening was what would have been happening if I wasn’t there. I was literally wasting my time. This guy had taken my money, asked for my weed and was now consuming my time. What else was he expecting me to give? My ass virginity? One of my kidneys? My first born child?

I glanced over to the now unlit joint in the ashtray, after being left on it’s own for too long it’d gone out due to neglect. I wondered if I should leave it for him to finish and get on my way, but I was starting to get annoyed at the prospect that I’d been cheated in this situation and I at least deserved a few more tokes, so I took the spliff, re-lit it and hit it. I passed it back to him, as he remained glued to his laptop and put it into the ashtray for it to go out again. Silence descended. I was about to inform him of my departure, when he asked; “Hey, how about you skin one up and we’ll have two going at the same time?” I was shocked. I just thought; ‘Two at the same time? You’re not even smoking the first one?’ I respectfully declined the offer of sharing more of my weed with the person I bought if from. This was it, I had to leave.

Not to sound rude for leaving I said I had to be off for some bullshit reason; got to meet someone at 6.00pm. It was 5.50pm, so I knew this was a good plan. But not good enough for the dealer; “Let me just show you this…” he turned his laptop to me and began to show me some unfamiliar music making program, which I didn’t care for. I love music, but making music seems like a long and drawn out process that I don’t want to be part of never mind watching another individual embarking on it. I watched while mindlessly complementing in a hope that it would get me out the door sooner. No such luck. I kept glancing at my watch. It was 5.58pm. I’d already said I was meeting someone at 6.00pm that was my definite cut off point. I mentioned it again and begin to stand up. Then I had to pull off some of the most fast-paced lying I had ever achieved, some of the quick-fire response lies that men usually only have to disperse in an argument with a lover or in a police interrogation room.

Me: “Look man, I’ve really gotta be off. It’s almost six.”
Dealer: “Who you meeting?”
I wasn’t meeting anyone, but I had to lie, couldn’t say a mate or he’d want to come, so I went for …
Me: “The girlfriend.”

Dealer: “Where?”

Me: “From work, she finishes in a minute, I’m gunna be late and she’ll be pissed.”

Dealer: “Let me finish off this joint and I’ll give you a ride.”

I had to get out of this.
Me: “But I came on my bike.”
There’s no way my bike could fit in his car.

Dealer: “You can come back for it tomorrow.”

The thought of coming back sent a shiver down my spine.
Me: “But I have work in the morning. I need to bike it to work, so I just better be off.”

Dealer: “Alright then mate. See you soon.”

And I left, relieved, like a man that’d just served a murder sentence for a crime he didn’t commit. The weed was good, it was on weight and a decent enough strain, but the strain put on me to secure the marijuana and to preserve the vital bond between dealer and customer was too much.

A Relationship with God...?

The other day, I took a little break from sitting around festering in my own filth to think about God. Now, I’ve never been a massive fan of the Christian deity, I think this is all down to the fact that all this religious stuff used to get hammered into me while I was at school, obviously when your younger it’s hard to listen to someone going on and on and on and on, about some guy that lives in the sky and watches over us. Yeah, it was kind of interesting the first time, but like with any story or anecdote it gets tiring listening to it over and over again. Through my scattered memories; jumbled up because of severe alcohol and drug abuse, I remember one school assembly in which a teacher was describing someone, going on about how great this person was. The main thing I remember being said was; “this person even knows how many hairs you have on your head” at that point my mind began to envision some type of brilliant magician, that knew everything, I was half expecting this magician to suddenly appear at the front of the hall from a cloud of smoke. My imagination was racing at the possibilities of what this brilliant magician would do to impress the awe-struck audience of little kids. But, much to my minds dismay, it wasn’t some brilliant magician, it was [as the teacher put it]; “… that person is God.” My heart sank, I just thought ‘Oh, him again!’

I’m against drilling little infants … with the ‘message of the lord’, it’s a bias towards which ever religion a certain school represents. As it’s all subject to change, if I was born somewhere else in the world it would be a different deity that I’d have been forced to learn about, such as Allah, Buddha, Vishnu or whatever the Jews call their God. So religion is basically based on region, maybe that’s why the words are so similar. I also remember when learning about God at school, there was a boy that used to get sent out of class, because his parents didn’t want him to learn about the Christian God. At the time I didn’t understand why, now I do, but back then I used to hate that motherfucker, because as the rest of us got bored to death, he was somewhere else painting or drawing or playing with Play-Do, the lucky son of a bitch. This may have subconsciously added to my distain for God in the future.

I did used to pray to God and Jesus at one point of my life. Never thanking him [God] for anything, instead I usually just asking him for things. After years of hearing about all the miracles he did, I assumed because I’d led a good life [up to that point] he’d help me with my requests. I wasn’t asking for much, it’s not as if I was a materialist child, I made simple requests; ‘Please stop mummy from drinking, Jesus’, ‘Please have daddy come home, God. He’s been out for that bottle of milk for three years’. Of course these things never came to fruition as I was going about my relationship with God all wrong. Although I’d had story after story drilled into me by teachers (whom I now expect a large majority didn’t believe what they were preaching, after all these are educated people), I never really realised that I was supposed to be obedient to the lord and thank him continuously for the life he has given me and I should rarely ask for anything as that would be selfish.

Then the other day I came to a conclusion on having a relationship with God. That conclusion is as follows; a relationship with God is like a relationship with an uptight and horrible girlfriend.

Think about it for a minute, before you dismiss such a claim. There are plenty of similarities between the two. For example, you should love your girlfriend undoubtedly, much like God. You should always have faith in both, despite your own opinions. If your girlfriend wants to dress like a dirty slag, you must show your faith, if Christians want to denounce homosexuality; you must have faith in that too, no matter if you think homosexuality is perfectly fine and natural or you think your girlfriend looks like a dirty slag. You must continue to give to both, with nothing back in return, it may be your soul or it may be a brand new pair of shoes, either way nothing is guaranteed in return. Both God and girlfriends need to be worshipped continuously, without question. They always want your money; the girlfriend wants a new dress or more new shoes because she’s scuffed the last pair, God wants your money to fix the roof of a Church so people can stay dry when they pray. You must defend both, if someone attacks your God or your girlfriend, you must come to their rescue. They both begin with the letter ‘G’; God, Girlfriend [yeah, even I’ll admit I’m clutching a straws at this point].

But the similarities are there.

Eventually, after running yourself into the ground you give up, after all the years of neglect from both, you do the right thing and end it with both of them. Because after all that shit, you realise that you’re worth more. You’re better than your girlfriend and you’re better than God. So you cut off ties with them both. You carry on with your life and act as if that horrible girlfriend never existed and as for God … he never really existed in the first place, so he’s easy to forget.