change your bookmarks, people. the revolution is my boyfriend is comin’ at cho from:
www.therevolutionismyboyfriend.co.uk
new and improved!
own domain name!
helvetica overload!
wider margins!
custom CSS!
HOW ARE YOU GONNA SAY NO? TELL YOUR FRIENDS! BUY THE T-SHIRT!
check it out, y’all. we’ve got a brand new page for ya: “as overheard in…”, showcasing the week’s FINEST one-liners and statements as supplied by the brilliant minds in my office.
and we’ve got a doozy of an opening line: “israel’s not a muslim country”.
nothing gets by you!
May Day: a bank holiday off work, red banners and angry poor kids running around with sticks (i would fall into the latter category).
COMMUNISM: WHAT’S NOT TO LIKE HERE?
check out Papa Marx with the lampshade on his head. does this bad boy know how to party, OR WHAT? that’s the point in the evening when you know that anything can happen. i wonder if he spend the night wandering the streets drinking bottles of 50 beer, waking up next to lenin. use protection, boys! fidel’s busy hitting the booze and we got mao running around asking for change. that cultural revolution ain’t gonna pay for itself, ya know.
the revolution continues…
today i find myself seriously wondering if i am medically depressed, if this “temporary glitch” in the life plan has psychologically damaged me so severely that i am now altered. or if in fact, this has been brewing under the surface the whole time and i needed this experience to get it out into the open.
this isn’t the first time i’ve thought of this and i’ve always chalked it up to being unhappy in my job – which leads then to earnings, to savings, to loan paying, to rent swapping – to everything, really. i was just really shocked at myself that once again my otherwise normal-to-good mood was shattered ubruptly upon finding out about yet another friend of mine with an enviable job. i shocks me because i have lately been incapable of handling news of this kind but it’s far more than a simple twinge of jealousy. it descends me into a darkness that i can’t seem to escape for days, and even then it is manufacteured out of me. everything i am and have ever done dimish instantly in the face of such news, i become inconsolable and do not want to leave my room or speak with anyone.
the HOLY TRUTH on all things, wikipedia, has the following pearls of wisdom concerning depression:
Clinical depression can present with a variety of symptoms, but almost all patients display a marked change in mood, a deep feeling of sadness, and a noticeable loss of interest or pleasure in favorite activities. Other symptoms include:
Persistent sad, anxious or “empty” mood – YES Loss of appetite and/or weight loss or conversely overeating and weight gain – SOMETIMES Insomnia, early morning awakening, or oversleeping – YES TO BOTH Restlessness or irritability – YES (latter) Psychomotor agitation or psychomotor retardation – PSYCHO! Feelings of worthlessness, inappropriate guilt, helplessness – YES (but that could be latent catholocism) Feelings of hopelessness, pessimism – YES Difficulty thinking, concentrating, remembering or making decisions – YES TO ALL Thoughts of death or suicide or attempts at suicide – NO Loss of interest or pleasure in hobbies and activities that were once enjoyed – YES Withdrawal from social situations, family and friends – YES Persistent physical symptoms that do not respond to treatment, such as headaches, digestive problems, and chronic pain – YES Decreased energy, fatigue, feeling “slowed down” or sluggish – YES
so i don’t know. then again, maybe i’ll feel better tomorrow…
you know, sometimes i say to myself, “self, can this country become any stupider?” and then i’m smacked in the face with something like this and reply, “yes. yes it can.”
and boy, howdy. apparently, british women need to be told to breastfeed their children. so much so that the NHS has got these spanking-hot posters to remind women that their breasts are for treats AND eats.
“Breastfeeding is cool as well as healthy, according to the message behind an exhibition that opens in London this week.” well thanks, Independent! all this time, here I was sitting around thinking that these two ol’ bin bags were just for the nightly “show and tell” sessions i have with the mister.
lord jesus mercy. you mean that women have to be TOLD to breastfeed their children in this country?! did they not wonder this whole time what that white liquid was coming out mt. vesuvius and mt. st helen? because call me mental but unless the word ESCOBAR is involved, i’m pretty sure that’s milk we’re talking about here. also, how LAZY do you have to be to prefer to bottleup your kid with formula/milk that you have to pay for when the holy spirit is giving it to you for FREE? oh, the questions. it’s amazing my brain doesn’t explode under strain of it all.
and these posters – what the hell is that all about? would i be so exasperated if they weren’t so stultifyingly moronic? ’tis a riddle 
for the ages. here’s a good idea: let’s show women’s top three concerns, boozing, bras and men, and reassure them that breastfeeding wont upset them any further. innit.
how about you all get bent instead.
i especially like the very responsible message of the drinking poster: hey moms! with all the £££ you’ll be saving on baby formula, you’ll be able to spend it getting SHITFACED on margaritas, ready to spend quality time with your newborn joy. RESPONSIBLE!
i also enjoy the vacuous overtones of the designer bra one. lemme get this straight: you just gave birth; you have a new life to take of; your ankles are still the size of the hoover dam and your stomach looks like a play-doh experiment; your entire home, nay, life, are now covered in diapers, talcum powder and hourly night feedings.
GETTING YOUR NASTY SHE-BEAST NAILS ON A DESIGNER BREASTFEEDING BRA ISN’T YOUR BIGGEST PROBLEM RIGHT NOW!
and let’s not think too much about the final magnum opus poster with baby and daddy coppin’ a feel. oughta way to get them started young. 
again, let us picture the scene: your body has just gone through the most traumatic experience it will ever have to endure, save maybe for an evening of entertainment involving the words “anal” and “probe”. concerned about what your man thinks about your boobage? DON’T BE. hell, he’s probably never seen that cup size filled out without squeaking plastic involved. need to bond with your man? looks like you already did a pretty good job of that. he doesn’t like the look of your new ready-to-feed breasts? NOT HIS PROBLEM.
and one last note. my man? since when did all mothers magically require/want there to be a man in the picture?
it’s a rare and talented poster that manages to be both offensively stupid and stupidly offensive. GO TEAM!
grid no. 1: [clockwise]
1. johnny depp
2. amy winehouse
3. abu hamza, craig david, martyn
4. craig david, maggie t, spinal tap, elton john
grid no. 2: [clockwise]
1. benazir bhutto and abu hamza
2. 118 guys
3. martyn and elisha
4. spinal tap – still in character
grid no. 3: [clockwise]
1. martyn, maggie t, spinal tap
2. martyn and prince harry
3. maggie t showing some leg
4. maggie t cleaning up no. 10
so i have finally created an “about me” page. instead of doing any work this morning, i decided that this was time better spent. it’s all part of the “get fired” plan. you can READ ALL ABOUT ME by clicking above.
the “what the shit?” page has also been changed up. from now on, we’re going to have a weekly “what the shit” contribution, as a way to organize the shit-filled chaos that is existence. check out today’s sexxxy bilingual contribution.
polaroids from saturday’s dress up birthday party a-comin’
party on, ted. party on, bill
today i’m going to make a serious attempt to get fired from work.
so far, nothing has worked: swearing like a drunken sailor, calling the MD a cunt, showing up with a hangover and spending the first hour in the toilets, showing up drunk, stealing, threatening to call the cops on the office rapist and generally acting like a complete and utter asshole.
except for shitting on my line manager’s desk, i’m not sure what more i can do.
yesterday, for nora, chris and kevin’s birthday party, we were instructed to come dressed up as someone famous who had lived in london. and while we got various creative entries, including maggie thatcher, the 118 guys and abu hamza, i like to think that my chosen costume had a special JE NE SAIS QUOI about it.
mark and i decided to dress up as INfamous characters from soas: our man in istanbul, martyn, and for lack of a better term, the brooklyn scarecrow. GUESS WHO.
my battle between loving london and hating england rages on…
oi!
you let yourself down
and you don’t know why
i’m the original
i’m the original
when it comes to the suburbs,
I’m the original
being english isn’t about hate
it’s about disgust
were all disgusting
and then you move move move move
and you push push push push
and you trip over yourself and you think to yourself
why am I here?
i’m here cos I got no fucking choice!
and furthermore, furthermore
you’re boring
- Blur
sleepless long nights
that was what my youth was for
all you nations come and listen the truth is a mess and the politics are pissing all you people this is trash we abominate music we are here for cash smash your headphones cut your hair don't try to cheat get down on your knees boy beg for the beat
