Tag Archive: brats

…the fanfags of Burton’s Alice in Wonderland update. Just go on the IMDb board for it. Go on, I dare you. You have to try and read all the posts without sinking into a violent fantasy world in which you’re dismembering the scene kiddies with hot pliers, minus anaesthetic and a valid surgery qualification of any sort. Please let me know if you’re successful in this, because I sure as hell wasn’t.

She loves Lewis Carroll so much.

I shouldn’t hate these little darlings for wanting to discuss their absolute favourite thing in the world, should I? They’re just expressing their opinion about it. And arguing with each other over it. And ejaculating over their favourite actors in plain view of the rest of the internet and oh Jesus, you know what? Sod freedom of speech or whatever, somebody gag these children and lock them in their bedrooms with some intelligent books – some Shakespeare, some Wilde, some Gaiman, Clare, Allende, Banks, Sebold – until they’ve safely passed puberty and can contribute to society without trying overly hard to be “dark” and “different.”

The pen is mightier than the Paramore, you know.

(Unfortunately, some may remain dark little bunnies into adulthood. Case in point is, unluckily, me. Although I should point out that this isn’t due to overdosing on Tim Burton, not like these disgusting little worms [I like ‘Corpse Bride’, just not a great wanky amount]. It’s due to the five-plus years of physical and emotional bullying I endured in my formative years, coupled with the fact I was an overweight, acne-ridden, bespectacled child with braces. You couldn’t make up a character to rival how awkward and nerdy I was. And being cornered by a boy three years older and repeatedly whipped with an elastic band doesn’t really make little girls into happy adults who openly embrace attention and affection from the opposite sex.)

Women who post birth videos on YouTube.

Apparently, this is a popular trend now.


What the fuck?

Why would you expose yourself in that manner TO THE WORLD? What’s WRONG with these fruitcakes? What possesses them? What makes them think, “OOH, you know what the internets will love? My mucus-covered black hole of a vagina!”? These women need to be told that, look, YOU think birth is a wonderful, sensuous, beautiful process; some of us (i.e., ME ONCE AGAIN) do NOT. In fact, we feel sick when you lumber towards us, doing a brilliant impression of Jupiter, whilst we’re trying to eat, and then you and your…spawn-in-progess lounge in plain view while I attempt not to projectile vomit at your swollen feet. I don’t want to see your livid stretch-marks. I don’t want to hear about your overwrought bladder. I certainly do not want to witness your brat slithering out into the world whilst you bellow like a heifer before snotting all over your hospital-issue gown because you’re so emotional.

“Don’t search for the videos, then!” I fear they’ll cheerfully tell me, should I be unfortunate enough to enter into conversation with these breeding cretins.


DON’T POST THE DISGUSTING THINGS IN THE FIRST PLACE, say I in this hypothetical exchange. Keep it behind closed doors. You know, like a normal human being! That way, you’ll only have to pay for your husband’s therapy. Cheers.

…I’m actually too angry to write anymore. O world, you’re full of lovely individuals!


– Girls who blog about the “charming, quirky, offbeat, gorgeous” style of celebrities, trying to sound as though they’re experts. There’s an alarming amount of these twats on the internet. As if you’d go out wearing half the stuff you harp on about – you’re too much of a fucking pussy. You’d probably wear beige if those fucking French fashion magazines told you in was THE colour of next season. I realise of course that there may be one or two that are actually man enough to wear what they like. Good for you. I hate fashion unless it involves black, lace, leather, corsets, Victorian-governess-bondage, things that look like they should be worn around Hogsmeade and old military uniform. And boots that look like they’d disembowel someone if you deigned to kick them whilst wearing a pair.

-The “friends” I have on Facebook constantly giving the world updates about how their newborn spawn is faring. Most of them are my age. I. Don’t. Care. I could unfriend you, but I love looking at your page when I feel I’m failing at life. I think, “At least I haven’t become pregnant yet – that would really be a new low,” and instantly feel awesome. There is a positive side to this – it reaffirms how lacking my maternal instincts and desires to inflict miniature versions of myself on the world are. Damn I hate children. If I was in charge, it’d be like Vulgaria in Chitty Chitty Bang Bang and I would  employ this fine man to uphold my law of NO CHILDREN:


– This house. I die a little every day inside this house. I can’t be creative or intelligent or outspoken in this house without being labelled as someone who has let university “change” them. Of course it’s changed me – I’m not a wimpy little retard who doesn’t speak up for herself now. That’s a good thing. I reject your reality AND your fucking stupid religion and substitute my own! Viva slash fiction and men too pretty to be entirely male!

Oh yeah, man. Snucius forever.

– Weight gain. Although it is only 1lb for wine/Jelly Baby/excess amounts of pork chops/a freaking large KitKat.

– WASPS. Both The Cat and I whinged like big girls until someone came to kill the wasp that was in a bedroom this morning.

…All right, so The Cat was raring to murder the wasp. I was the only one whinging like a big girl.