Lolcats

lolcats

Hippy shit

Ever since that Al Gore geezer invented this global warming crap the weather has been totally rubbish in England. It hasn't got warmer at all! It got rainier!

I should have known it all was a load of shit when I went to his launch party at Wembley few weeks ago – just because he invented the internet doesn’t mean the dude knows how to throw a party. It was wayyyy overcrowded in there and not a hint of cocaine on offer. Needless to say I bailed early, went home and threw a huge Fuck The Earth party instead. It was awesome – we dined on whale meat, wrapped ourselves in clingfilm and drove around revving our global warmers all night.

With all due respect I don’t think Mr Gore has thought through properly all this climate change stuff he’s trying to sell. Carbon dioxide emissions? Ha! Judging from the size of his belly I would suggest that he probably emits half the developing world’s tally all by himself. The world’s oceans are set to rise by 4 feet in the next year if we buy into his crap and that is seriously a heck of a lot of midgets that are going to drown as a result. And all this just so that Americans can lower their heating bills!

Well fuck all this pressure. I am out of here for a few day on a very well deserved holiday. I scored an awesomely cheap package holiday from www.dodgybreaks.com and I am tres (that’s French) excited about getting away on my little break to Tewkesbury for a few days. I’m not sure exactly where that is, but I think it's in France. Either way it sounds like such a cute seaside retreat - as a bonus the travel agent even threw in a free set of goggles and snorkel.

So. While you sad bastards are working like peasants I will be scuba diving with the fishies. If you really want to save the planet while I am gone, consider that if Google had a black screen 750 mega watts an hour per year would be saved. As a result Google has created a gothic version of its search engine called Blackle. It has the same functions as the white version, but with heaps lower energy consumption. Use it. Gore will give you head.

JJ motivational posters

Commuting

Londoners keep yapping on about how vile public transport is but really it’s totally easy to get a seat during rush hour. I just wear a muslim burkha every morning and combined with my Friends Re-Ignited duffel bag it’s enough to not only make sure I get a seat – heck the whole fucking carriage empties out.

Occupying a deserted carriage saves me from having to squeeze between men in suits who have their legs splayed open at a 90 degree angle as if they have chosen the Underground as a great place to give birth. Ladies never sit with their legs wide apart taking up more room than their ticket entitles them to. Men: SHUT YOUR LEGS.

Sitting in an empty carriage of course entitles me to do exactly the fuck what I want with the train windows. Train window etiquette is such a political minefield for British commuters I am very surprised that transport authorities haven’t hired an overpaid psychiatrist like me to write an illustrated leaflet in 123 languages on how we should all overcome Window Anxiety.

The social embarrassment of wanting to open a window but being too nervous to do so in case you piss off the whole carriage may seem trite to foreign folk, but for British people it's even more complex than trying to figure out whether anal beads should be inserted waxy knot up or down.

Our discomfort is palpable if we want to open a shut window – what if it pisses off your fellow travellers who might like inhaling AIDS infected stale air? Even worse – what if we pluck up the guts to open the stupid window only to have someone jump on at the next stop and shut it? Fuck. In this situation a British person has no other option to get off at the next stop and wait for the next train. The only time you can get away with this gaffe is if you are pregnant – standing pregnant ladies are always invisible to others on packed trains.

Broken windows are worse still – it is very difficult to retain your dignity if you attempt to open a window only to find it is stuck. The only option here is for you to accept the Commuter-Walk-of-Shame at the next stop AND take an alternative route home for at least the next 6 months in case someone recognises you. Even then you need to at least change your hairstyle to disguise yourself before you try you regular route.

Of course as a burka wearer I can open a window whenever I fucking want. I might be silently hated for doing so but at least I’m not driving a burning car into an airport.

One night stands

Jungley Jane has never had a one night stand herself of course, however she does have a “friend” who has, the dirty tramp.

One-night stands are to relationships what short stories are to novels – a sexual encounter between strangers who hope they will never see each other again. The relationship begins and ends within a few hours and consequently one is spared the tedium of engagements, breeding, ageing and cuddling. All you get is the sex – it’s a bit like licking off the icing before feeding the rest of the cake to the dogs.

It is rare that a one night stand is kept secret afterward. For this reason you should try to avoid hooking up with your best mate’s ex - the statute of limitations never passes on your best mate’s right to be unreasonable. Bedding your best mate’s father, sister and mother is totally fine, although you shouldn't probably do them all on the same night.

Hook-ups usually happen when you are highly intoxicated – Lordy me, the amount of times I’ve got pissed and fallen on top of a knob is just uncanny.

If you do want to root a random you meet in some dodgy club it is best to always give them a false name from the outset. It is highly unlikely in the cold light of day that you will remember theirs, so by ensuring you both call each other the wrong name the entire faux pas is nul and void.

The golden rule of a successful bash and dash is to always go to their place in case you pulled a person who thinks its okay to hang around the whole next day. You also get a chance to check out their refrigerator – if there is a picture of you on it already and you never met them before you might want to get the fuck out of there quickly. And don't forget to ransack their drugs tin as you are sneaking about their place when they are passed out, people!

When it comes to the actual sex there is really very little etiquette to bear in mind – drunk people don’t make notes. Ladies if he’s drier than your mum’s Sunday roast its perfectly fine to spit on his knob – he’ll never remember. Lads, this is your chance to try out your Ron Jeremy moves – girls love a man that slaps his knob around your laydee-parts like they fainted and need resuscitating. Don’t bother using that condom either folks – you totally can’t get diseases if you only fuck once.

The sex is likely to end when one of you either passes out (technically its probably not great etiquette to carry on humping) or sneaks off have a little vom-vom. Your choices now are whether to endure the night politely cuddling a stranger or slipping out the back door having emptied out your conquest’s booze cabinet. Either way, never stay for breakfast. He’s unlikely to have mascara remover at his house and you really don’t want to sit across a table in broad light of day with your decaying makeup from the night before dripping down your sparkly clubbing pants.

Finally, if you have to go straight to work the next day, hold you head up high as you walk in the office. LOADS of people wear sparkly clubbing pants to work these days. Just remember that proximity is not your friend – you will only be rumbled if they smell it seeping out your pores.

Dating

Cats and astrology are girl-things that blokes just simply don’t get. It stresses them out.

If you are single and would rather not be I can advise you that your maximum cattage is strictly limited to two beasts. More than two cats and you start to freak blokes out. Remember ladies: men might say they love cats when they are trying to remove your knickers, but when women aren't looking men kick cats. Most men cannot tell a cat apart from a squirrel with terribly long legs.

The rules for single women and dog ownership are slightly more complex. Anything that stands taller than your knees is fine – you may have up to 3 of these dogs. You will get a date. Anything smaller than that – for example a Pekinese – should not be owned at all. Men don’t want to be seen with a handbag-dog and cannot bond with a pet that would like nothing better than to run around in circles and consume its own tail. You will NEVER hear a man declare “Man I am hating on Labradors…dozy yappers should all be gassed”.

Rodents should also be avoided. Very few eligible men are actively looking for a girlfriend who owns a rat. Men will chase a women they don’t intend marrying for the same reason dogs chase cars they have no intention of driving. They will of course be quite happy to sleep with you occasionally. Pack a toothbrush though – it’s not going to happen in your house.

Rabbits are slightly higher on the hierarchical ladder of pets than rats, lizards or guinea pigs. Nonetheless all men hate rabbits unless they are slow roasted and served with a nice glass of red.

Pet rules apply to men too – if you are male and have your own personal cat (one that you actively acquired yourself rather than inherited from mum, your sister or your ex) you should keep this quiet until your third date. Most women believe that men with cats prefer dating other men with cats.

Perversely, you are far better off as a single (and looking) male to purchase a small dog. Look upon it as your little dating aid. Women find it ‘sensitive’. Men who own pitbulls tend to portray an undercurrent of "my dog can kick your dog’s arse".

Unfortunately for cupid however men prefer animals who can be active with them - small dogs are not manly, and therefore they are to be scorned. A large dog is seen as a noble companion that can be trained to hunt food, defend your car and bite the crotch of the postman.

The battle of the sexes, eh? No wonder we all wake up alone on a Sunday morning…

Screwing the crew

Having a relationship with someone you work with is as pointless as blowing the devil to ensure you get a place in heaven. Whilst the workplace may seem like a dating agency that pays you to use it, work dalliances can be disastrous for career girls even if you follow the casting couch rule of only ever shagging upwards.

Although romance in the workplace usually either ends in a marriage or a lawsuit when an office affair becomes a problem, it’s usually the woman who falls on the career sword. It is for this reason that your romance should be conducted by stealth.

Dipping your pen in the company ink is hardly surprising – most companies hire people with similar social outlooks and levels of education. Getting to know your colleagues is more natural than in a social context - unlike bars and nightclubs most people are usually sober at work. This obviously does not apply to the porn industry.

The type of job you do often dictates whether or not you are likely to mix emotions and hormones within the office cubicle – one would imagine that many people aspire to work in Corporate Affairs just because the name of the department alone implies sex. You are less likely to hook up with anyone working In IT – these folk have long since forgotten how to interact with living creatures.

As a women there is a limit to how many office affairs you can have without being labelled as a saddle, whilst men of course can work their way through the entire office (nothing gay though) and still get their ass promoted regularly. Try to limit yourself to no more than one fling and one long term relationship.

Your office is the place where you make the magic buttons that pay the bills and romancing in the workplace is like playing with a lighter in a sea of gasoline. Use common sense – don’t do it on the photocopier for example. Not even in an ironic way. Realise that your boss is unlikely to be happy for you either (unless your boss is your new bedbuddy). Even if you are not distracted they will assume that you are and they will watch you more closely for lengthy visits to the stationery cupboard.

The bottom line is that cupid makes you stupid and you want to think very carefully before you mix your spreadsheets with your bedsheets. Consider the breakup – Do you really like all of your exes enough that you wouldn’t mind working with them on a daily basis? Thought not…

JJ vs Big Brother

It has come to my attention that there is a new program on television called Big Brother. During this show, cameras are trained on people doing fuck all and then they become famous.

Fuck. I can do that. In addition, I can actually communicate with my audience – I don’t see these television folk answering comments.

I intend sitting about working with the cameras trained on me for the whole day today and therefore by this time tomorrow I will be very famous.

I might have to perform a few tricks in order to earn my fame. I don’t have any housemates to fellate or anything, but I am prepared to lick the vagina of the mannequin behind me and I am sure my cat will be prepared to put in an appearance and wash his arse for you.

Your fame-seeking-whore requests will be considered however please bear in mind that I am working and therefore cannot pierce anything, kill stuff or make bombs.

Personal ads for knobs

Wellhung69
Hang your hat on my hook

Well I might not be an oil painting but I’m definitely not bad looking either. Looks aren’t everything, are they? It’s what is inside you that counts, and I would like to be inside you.

I’m biosexual, so if you are male and think you can take all of me, drop me a line. I am willing to lie about how we met if you are catholic.

Ladies if you have a ‘slim’ build, sorry but if I wanted someone with no tits I would have dated one of the many gay men hit on me constantly. I’m looking for the whole package - If you are fat, that’s okay so long as you have a tight twat.

I like all pets, particularly kittens. My heart just melts for kittens.

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Snakeboy_Yeah
No assholes or faggots

I want a short term relationship or will consider a long term relationship if the right person has chemicals and chemistry. No friendships. I don't need no goddamn friends.

I love sport, especially watersports. I also like rugby (couch), hockey (tonsil), diving (muff) and shooting (jizz). I can't stand movies or picnics or the beach. The last album I bought was Death on the Road by Iron Maiden. Don’t fucking ask me to take you to the movies.

My Miss Perfect will be toothless but I am open to removable dentures. My perfect date would include getting hammered in a titty club while you pickpocket drunks at the bar.

No Fake fakes. I haven’t fucking got time. I have a snake that needs milking, I aint got no time for bullshit.

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Turtle43
Life is short and so am I

Hey how are you? How’s it going? I'm pretty new to this but thought I'd give it a go. I don’t go out much so i thought I’d give this a try. Gosh where do I start? This is so hard! I haven’t done this before! But here goes. This is really the difficult bit!

Well I’m a bit shy until you get to know me and then I really come out of my shell. And I have my own hair.

If you want to know anything more, just ask!

If I sound like what you are looking for, drop me a line! Email me!! What have you got to lose?! Get in touch, yeah?

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NutcrackerLOLLL!!!
I love to eat out!!!!

Hi I’m Nutcracker and as you can see I’m a twin!!! (I’m the one on the left by the way, LOLLLzzzz)

Me: GSOH, N/S, S/D. WLTM BDSM SWM asap. dont like BS, STDS, and HIV's.

You: SWF or BiF, DDF, looking for F/T F2F encounters. BBW need not apply – sorry, I like my women phat, not fat ROTFLMFAO!!!

I love reading – just finished ‘Who Moved My Cheese’. I also like snuggling and double dates. Did I mention I like snuggling? PMSL!!!

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JJWorshipper
A JJ in your bush is worth two in my hand

Well people say I can be cocky, but that’s more down to my bellend implant packing a big dose of attitude. She’s like a Pez dispenser, only way hotter.

If you want to hook up with me you will need be approved by my JJ Hood and let me tell you, she aint quiet. No sense in putting my own likes here – you’ll have to impress the stroppy shrew if you want to fool around with me.

She likes cactii, dwarves, trannies, weed, pills, speed and vitamin B injections into my bollocks.

If you don’t enjoy drinking, smoking, drugs and pornography please don’t apply – she will only keep me awake all night with her bitching, whining and horrible demands.
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Sock sex

Whilst it is almost impossible to orgasm if you have cold feet it is equally difficult to become aroused if your partner refuses to remove their socks. Even if you having a quickie and are fully clothed, if you want to get your rocks off you should definitely get your socks off.

If you suffer from cold feet you should defrost them up by placing them on your partner’s nice warm arse. Alternatively, you can encourage your cat to sleep on your bed so that he can provide warmth to your toes while you are getting it off with your loved one. If your loved one is the cat, I suggest that you do not have sex with him – you would have nothing to keep your feet warm with.

Ladies, you might be tempted to keep your socks on in order to keep your partner’s ears warm. Forget that immediately - It is more in your interests to suggest that he use your inner thighs. Gentleman, please understand that there is nothing less romantic than seeing you walk around butt naked with an erection and your socks on.

The only circumstance under which it is acceptable to wear socks in bed is if you need a decoy. Ladies with a face like a slapped arse or gentlemen afflicted with a tiny cock can easily divert their partner’s attention away from these areas and onto the feet by wearing a nice bright pair of socks. Gay people, please be aware that a pink sock is in fact a prolapsed rectum and should never worn on your feet.

Of course all of this is subjective and we do live in a democracy. My helpful poll will help the whole world to settle the argument for once and for all. Vote for your life, kids. You know it’s the right thing to do.

Heroworshipping

Okay I realize I am going to seriously piss the Iranians off, but fuck it. Someone has to tell them.

Look I know that this Salmon Rushdie geezer is one of yours and that you are proud of his achievements, but wake up and smell the coffee dudes…stop all of your jubilant fucking flag burning celebrations and national pride about his stoopid knighthoot - the dude is a majorly shit writer, okay?

Fuck, I can already feel those flames licking at my feet – but seriously you lot. You’ve spent the past 10 years awarding him with Fatwas. Why? Why? It’s not like he’s David Beckham or anything. Why do you continue to hero worship him? There are plenty more people that deserve one of them Fatwas. Like Mother Theresa. She came from your neck of the woods – where is her fekking Fatwa and debauched party?

It's not like me to be political or anything, but before you go bestowing lavish ass-licking honours on people like him I politely suggest that you actually try to read one of his books. They are B-O-R-I-N-G.

If I lived in Iran and paid taxes I would be seriously pissed.
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Happy Fathers Day

I’m so fucking tired of the lack of pornography on the internet. It’s hardly as if I'm into anything weird like, it’s just that the internet is completely fucking crap.

As a public service and a gesture of goodwill on Father’s Day I hope you enjoy my humble offering of erotic art. I’m nice like that – always looking out for my fellow human beings. At least now you won’t have to spend your entire week trawling about the internets for stimulation yourselves, innit?

Gimps


Sexier than sex itself, the most satisfying site on the whole of the interweb is of course gimpsgonewild.com, your one-stop-shop for disabled material. Oh, the money I spend there! More than just your usual old Cerebral Palsy offering, here you will find amputees (sub categories disease, trauma and tumours), Arthrogryposis sufferers and even nekkie Spina Bifida totty. Go there now. With your credit card. You won’t regret it.

Granny porn

Now I am not sure what is worse – walking in on your grandparents having sex or them walking in on you. Either way, if you are curious to know what the aged get up during retirement, there is plenty of erotic material available on grannysex.com (most of the snatch looks a bit like tanned leather, but it’s amazing how horny some of those senile dementia chicks are) and of course in the bible. Sorry, I can’t be arsed to look up exactly where it is in the bible but it's bound to be there somewhere.

Junkie love

Don’t try this at home, kids. Your dad will not be happy if you burn his car out. Perfect for junkies who get a boner at the sight of all that chrystal meth and don't mind having to dispose of the occassional overdose victim.

Maggot sex

Oh, how I long to have a penis! I have vowed to myself that my next boyfriend must own a maggot farm – if I can’t dip my own non-existent knob in a vat full of crawlies I am sure that the man of my dreams can. Hopefully he will pay careful attention to foreskin hygiene – imagine how hilarious it would be if he didn’t clean properly and hatched a batch of fruit flies?
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Swap shop

Right, it’s time to sweep out the old and make way for the new as I present to you Jungle Jane’s inaugural "Swap My Shit For Your Shit" weekend. This is your chance to own invaluable Jungle Jane memorabilia – certain to be collector’s items in years to come – and my chance to own a little piece of you.

I have 3 items that I am prepared to offer up for your pleasure – browse at your leisure and decide which one you want the most. I am prepared to swap these 3 items (individually) for something that you no longer require but you think I would like to own. Please note not that this is a fuck around – you will have to post your item to me (so it shouldn’t be too bulky) to the UK and you will need to email me your proper name and address so I can post you my item.

Please submit your proposed swap item ideas (you may make as many suggestions as you like) and I will decide who gets what. Please do not suggest livestock or your relatives.

My items for swap are:

My panties
One pair of my knickers (g-string, lacy). Please state whether you want them soiled or not. The knickers will not be wrapped in tissue or anything fancy like that, however if you want them soiled I can post them to you in a plastic bag to retain moistness




“ToyJoy Perfect Partner”
Strapon (6" non vibrating) only used twice in lesbian romps. Can be cleaned prior to dispatch if required. Currently an ornament on my mantelpiece, this will make a great present, decoration or belt. Oh and you can use it as a strap-on too. Reason for discarding: have upgraded to a sturdier model.



My child
I no longer require my daughter, Pixie Sprinkle. Please note that your item for swap needs to be sentimental to you – I’m not swapping my kid for a piece of shit.

Winners Honour Roll

Item: My knickers
Winner: Bugwit
Swap: His recently-no-longer-required-wedding-ring

Item: Strapon
Winner: Sausage
Swap: Figurine of a wolf anally entering a maiden

Item: Pixie
Winner: Sausage
Swap: One signed soiled photo of Ron Jeremy

I suggest all you winners leave a tearful acceptance speech and contgratulate each other on your blogs.

Diets

True fact: Fat people are hard to kidnap.

Unfortunately there are many negative stereotypes that are commonly associated with fat people such as the belief that they are lazy, evil and smell like stale milk. Even Jesus hates fat people - gluttony is one of the 7 deadly sins, as is greed and sloth.

As a svelte size 20 myself I am here to help you to stop eating all the African kids’ food and slim yourselves down so that you are as slender and alluring as me. Men might say that they like a woman with a bit of meat, but frankly I don’t see many of them living in a butchery.

Your first step in practising girth control is to admit that you are a total porker – an individual who has to use a mirror to observe your own genitalia. Denial is your biggest obstacle – many fat people will insist that they eat like birds. Big fat giant birds maybe.

Crash diets are fantastic for quick weight loss, however the human body responds to starvation by decreasing metabolism and leaving the dieter feeling lethargic and fatigued. Well don’t let that stop you from starving yourself – you can easily increase your metabolism by mixing heaps of amphetamine in a nice cup of tea. Cigarettes are also an excellent way of suppressing your appetite and if you are serious about eliminating the hail damage on your arse you should definitely take up smoking. Your body will thank you for it.

For a quick extra boost a handful of laxatives are not only a safe way of shedding a pound a or two but they have the added benefit of being chocolate flavoured. Make sure you never take laxatives and sleeping pills on the same night though.

Watching what you eat is essential if you want to be slim like me – you are way better off counting your calories than counting your chins. Eating lots of vegetables needn’t be a chore! I always ensure that I fry my chips in vegetable oil for example – potato is one of your recommended daily vegetable portions and the vegetable oil is another. Even better still if you eat loads of frozen food such as ice cream and vodka – frozen stuff contains no calories at all because calories are units of heat.

Talking of vodka, crackpot scientists seem to think that alcohol stacks the pounds on. No problem – simply skip your breakfast and lunch. Always remember that walking is a step in the right direction – walk to the pub instead of driving. Don’t walk too quickly though – you really want to avoid gaining muscle as it is heavier than fat and clearly defeats the objective of you trying to lose weight. At closing time, take care not to blow it with your late night take-away by only ordering diet coke with your fried chicken.

If all else fails and you really cannot slim down you should consider surgery. If you haven’t got much disposable cash, simply swallow a whole bunch of staples and immediately do 50 swift sit-ups.

Finally, please do not try to sue me if you cannot lose weight. The last person who tried that ended up with his arse looking like maggots. Thank you.

Happy thoughts

Yesterday I was chatting up some posh Cambridge toff (I was hoping to get him drunk and blow him in the toilets if you must know) when he suggested to me that I seem to be someone who is hating on a heck of a lot of stuff. “Well excuse me, Mr High and Mighty” I thought to myself as his chances of deepthroat disappeared faster than you can say “cricket is for pansies”.

It did get me thinking though and as a result I have decided to be cheery, positive and upbeat for a whole 24 hours. I have subsequently spent some time quietly reflecting on the many things in life that fulfill me spiritually and I have concluded that I don’t give enough credence to the joy I feel in my soul when I see a butterfly dancing in the spring sunshine or a cute kitten under the wheels of a large truck. Well enough of that, I say! Today I will be celebrating in a most positive manner the unsung hero of the human body….Rectums, This Is Your Life!

The asshole is as common as a Beatles record – everyone has one. It is also a highly erotic sexual organ, unless you are the Queen who has openly admitted to having an anus horribilis. The asshole is not to be confused with the Asshole of the World, which is another word for Iran. If you keep getting them confused, just remember – Iran is not covered in hair, although it does have its own fair share of shit.

Mainly used to expel waste matter (faeces, dogs, apples) from the body, the anus is also increasingly used as a handbag - an estimated 280,000 objects are removed surgically from rectums worldwide each year. The most common object retrieved is a vibrating mobile phone. Microwaved lemons and smoking hot bananas are of course the most pleasurable objects to insert up your turdcutter so it can only be assumed that their popularity is on the decline because they don’t vibrate.

The sphincter is the part of your asshole that helps you make Elvis tunes when you toot. Amusingly, the word ‘sphincter’ is also the singular noun of the large half-human, half-lion statue popular with tourists in Egypt, although the Egyptian tourist board usually play this fact down in their history books. The key to maintaining an alluring rusty bullet-wound is regular kegal exercises to enhance your elasticity - leaky bowels lead to unattractive skidmarks and if you wear the same pants for more then two days in a row are you likely to develop ass plaque.

A well groomed anus is a happy anus. Waxing might not feel very nice, but well done you for your attention to detail. Don’t stop there though - everyone who has an ass can benefit from anal bleaching, the process whereby your balloon knot is lightened for a more youthful appearance. While you are there, consider a treatment of botox too – nobody wants a asshole that looks like a 60 year old smoker’s mouth, right?

Man this positive thinking lark is uplifting. What do you say we do it more often, yeah?

Cycling

Although cycling is a healthy pursuit that keeps the youth off the streets it seems to me that our country is drowning in a sea of these childish, flimsy appliances bearing huffy types nodding at each other politely. All that yapping on about the environment blah blah makes me want to kick their carbon asses with my carbon footprint.

I’m not sure what it is these folk learn when they take their driving tests, but the highway code does not seem to be terribly significant. Cyclists seem to view traffic lights and pedestrian crossings as suggestions, and the only hand signal I've ever seen them use involves their middle finger or a shaking fist.

Cyclists do not pay road taxes yet ironically they seem to think that they are still legally allowed to ride on the streets. It seems to me that we would all be a heck of a lot safer if they stuck to riding on pavements. Indeed I have recently been re-training my dog to ignore old people and start chasing cyclists instead. I’m sure we all agree that the pavements are far safer for my dog than the road.

I don’t actually know anyone who rides a bicycle but I am sure that if I did I wouldn’t like them. My friends do not tuck their pants into their socks and none of them would forgo the purchase of a sofa in order to save the space in the lounge room for their bicycle. What type of human being hits the tar at 25mph and immediately leaps up to make sure that their bike is okay? These folk enjoy being knocked over by trucks – they view it as an opportunity to upgrade their accessories.

So what to do about the bicycle problem? Nothing, people! That is why busses were invented.

I am done with cycling now. I feel quite exhausted.

JJ gets into contortionism

Oral

What with the sheer amount of dirty bacteria such as AIDS and SARS kicking around the place these days it is really quite surprising that toothbrushes are still legal.

The main obstacle to toothbrush sanitation is your toilet, which is usually located about 5 feet from your hand basin. Every time the dunny is flushed shit-infested water sprays up to 8 feet around the bowl, landing on everything in the bathroom including your toothbrush. Even your toilet brush would be more hygienic to clean your teeth with – at least that is encased in a nice plastic sheath to protect it from all that muck spraying about.

Now although I was once in love with a dude sooooo bad that I could have happily used his shit as toothpaste I have to draw the line at doing the Dental Sanchez with my own faecal matter.

Another thing likely to leave a bad taste in your mouth is...errr...your own mouth. The average mouth is a fungi jungle! More than 100 different types of bacterial critters breed in our mouths – more than our arses and our armpits combined. There are so many germs hanging about your mouth they really ought to be paying rent. Now picture removing these squatters from the party they are throwing between your teeth and where do they happily live and breed after that? In your bloody toothbrush of course! And that three second flick of your brush under a running tap doesn’t mean it’s all good either unless you also happen to boil it after every use? No? Thought not, you dirty bastards.

If that were all not bad enough, the final kick in the pants occurs with those of you unlucky enough to co-habit. Hands up who of you is not guilty of using their partner or housemate’s toothbrush on the sly for things like cleaning the household garlic press or applying bleach to your twat hair? And if your housemate has an electric toothbrush – even better. You never have to worry about your ‘rabbit’ breaking down and you can even give your genital jewelry a bit of a quick buff whilst you are down there.

Now of course none of the above stuff applies to me. My own fastidious hygiene routine dictates that I only ever use my toothbrush once before throwing it away immediately and buying a new one. It’s lucky that teeth only need brushing fortnightly – omg could you imagine how much money I would spend if they were like bongs and needed cleaning every bloody day!!

In conclusion, I urge you to ensure that you always brush your teeth with rubber gloves on. You don’t want all those toothbrush germs coming into contact with your hands and spreading diseases, now do you? Unless of course you like the idea of gargling in someone else’s faecal matter – in which case you are good to ignore all of this and come back for my next hygiene-oriented post which will be entitled: “Why you should never sit in the same car as a woman who is on the blob”.

JJ goes to hell

God spending this weekend pissing all over the UK was probably awesome if you are a plant or married but a little bit dull for the rest of us. Unless you are one of those Birkenstock-wearing-clean-living types who finds joy in church bells no matter what the weather…in which case that is probably why you are single.

Seeing as we were all rained out and as I do spend fair amount of time on my knees gasping “oh God, oh God, oh God” I thought I might give the whole religion malarkey a whirl. It sounds just like my cup of tea - Christians behave however they want and if they can’t find it in the Bible to justify it, they just blame it on the Devil.

My first port of call in my tour of religion should have been the pink and gold mosque down the road from me but I decided to give praying and fasting miss. It seems they don’t have a god since that Saddam bin Laden got noosed by the Yanks. And as much as I love a man who is ‘well hung’, all this anti Curd stuff I keep hearing about seems over the top. I like dairy products – this clearly isn’t the right religion for me.

Next on my list wasn’t much more promising as I stealthily pink-panthered around the local Roman Catholic Church. This is because Catholic priests are notorious for pedophilia and really I wasn’t in the headspace to be distracted by sexy alter boys.

Of course there was always the synagogue - until I suddenly remembered that Jesus Christ was a Jew yet even he got nailed to the cross by his lot. At least that completely dispelled my previous belief which was that Jesus crossed the road because he was nailed to the chicken.

Not even this Scatology thing seems quite right for me - even if Tom Cruise does swear by it.

In desperation I finally gave my local Church of Satan a whirl but they wanted my soul in exchange for a bag of drugs and a morning of dirty gorilla sex. I simply had to decline – the whole point of this exercise was to do something different for a change. So having completely run out of religions I had no other option other than to go home and worship my Axl Rose shrine.

Just so as to prove my commitment to my soul, however, I have spread the word on MySpace that there'll be a rave party at the address of the local church next Saturday at midnight. I won’t be going myself, of course – when around 800 teens in hoods have arrived I will just grab a neighbour’s kid, hand him a few quid and tell him to go over and ask the preacher: "Would you rather be stoned or crucified?"…

A mystery

19:53pm: Jungle Jane visits the toilet
20:13pm: Jungle Jane exits the toilet
20:15pm: Jungle Jane discovers a tampon behind her ear
21:03pm: Jungle Jane STILL cannot find her missing pencil

Fiveskins

The Foreskin is a fugly tube of redundant skin that some dudes are cursed to have stuck to end of their knobs. The subject is largely taboo among many new mothers, yet recent research done by myself down the pub leads me to believe that as many as one men in three are unlucky enough to be born with this embarrassing knob defect.

So what to do with all that skin then, eh? Easy – cut off the filthy spare meat and say goodbye to a lifetime of foreskin feta and no sex. Nature can only do so much way of helping junior to lose the turtleneck sweater and to slip into a crew neck – the rest is down to you, people.



Circumcision – which should never be attempted whilst drunk - was first invented by the British to prevent masturbation. Recently some cultures have also adopted the practise in order to reduce the risk of HIV infection. Strange that none of these people ever considered removing the whole penis – thereby eliminating the risk entirely.


Circumcision is not just about correcting a design flaw in nature though – it also removes all of the sensitivity in the entire knob and is therefore an excellent way to prevent premature ejaculation. The procedure is no more painful than a flu vaccination and most men that have it done are up and fucking like a tiger within 3 hours of leaving the operating table.


Rumoured to soon become compulsory under the Green Party, circumsizion is the right thing to do for God, your country and all womenkind. If you are too tight to pay the vet to do it for you, I encourage you to study my illustration, purchase a razor and give it a go.



The only exceptions to this are gay men, who I will possibly not be having sex with unless I can get them really drunk.

Thank you.

Mobile phone etiquette

1. The ‘vibrate’ function on a phone is only for horny girls. How are you supposed to take a call at a funeral if you can’t hear your phone ringing?
2. Make sure you get a synthesisted ringtone – people around you will love it. ‘Who Let the Dogs Out’ is fun and catchy – give it a go. Or try recording yourself farting if you want a more personal touch.
3. Always start your conversations with ‘Hi, it’s me’. If you don’t tell people it’s you, how will they know who’s calling?
4. The "I'll be home in five minutes..." phone call is it REALLY worth it. Do it.
5. Always announce that you are ‘on the train’. The novelty of someone being on both a train and a phone simultaneously is so amazing that the people around you will want to sleep with you.
6. Make sure that you shout. Shouting ensures that the person you are calling will hear you even if you weren’t using the phone. The rule of thumb is ‘Can they hear me in India?’
7. People in Range Rovers talking on mobile phones are held in very high esteem by the general public. If you own a mobile, go buy a Range Rover. Your popularity will soar. You will get laid more often.
8. There is no need to terminate your phone call when you go to the loo. Especially if you are taking a crap.
9. Wear your headset even if you are not on a call. Chicks love it. They will offer you sex.
10. Other than the train, the best time to make a call on your mobile is at a cashier’s desk. Best to hold the phone with your right hand against your left ear. It makes you look worldly and virile.

My work here is done.
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How to eat your pet

Humanity has come a long way since them middle dark ages thingys, yet still now in the year 2006 some folk are really weird about which critters they consider it okay to consume. For example, Indian people burn flags if you so much as mention eating a cow while western folk are still horrified at the consumption of cute furry things. One can only assume that this is because cows are stupid, fat and ugly and this reminds westerners a little too much of themselves.

I am sure many of you consider such taboos to be wank and I am proud to present you with my highly guarded and secret recipes for eating your very best mate:

Cats:
There are said to be many ways to skin a cat. Forget that you lot – take the easy way out and try using a lawnmower or maybe a lit cigarette and some hairspray. Roasting is the only way to go with cats…and I can assure you that they do not taste of chicken – they taste of cat.

Anyhow, lop off the head and tail and use them at a later stage to make a wholesome and nutritious casserole stock. The kitty’s feet will be used for decorative purposes although you may wish to trim the nails before you garnish with little umbrellas.

Warm the oven to 375 degrees, chuck the cat in a baking tray and baste with a few spoonfuls of cooking oil. If you are French, I suggest you add 7 cloves up garlic shoved up the cat’s arse. Slow roast for 2 hours and enjoy with mashed potatoes and lightly steamed snowpeas.

Dogs:
Of course I have eaten loads of dogs, but mostly this refers to bad lesbian sex in badly lit nightclubs. Dogs are such arses I am tempted to tell you to simply throw it into the microwave alive and cook on high for 30 minutes. That wouldn’t taste very nice though and you probably wouldn’t read my blog again.

To start you can easily get a dog from the RSPCA which I basically view as a supermarket for us worldly types. You can kill your dog by either stabbing it through the heart or if you are squeamish you can try knocking it over with your car. Not too hard, mind – bruised flesh is awfully chewy.

Now stir-frying is really the only way to eat a dog. Cut the pooch into bit-sized chunks – the tail is the yummiest bit if you’ve got an Alsatian or a Ridgeback – and flash-fry for 4 minutes in a wok or George Foreman hotplate. When lightly browned add ginger, sprouts and a dash of chilli to taste. Serve with asian noodles or a bit of steamed rice if you’re a tight-arse spendthrift.

Canary/Budgie
Most people avoid eating budgie due to the difficulty in removing all those pesky feathers, or they tend to opt for mediocrity and boil them in lightly salted water with some spuds.

Wait up gang, its not that hard. Simply oil up a kebab skewer and slide on 3-4 budgies per skewer. The skewer slides through their arses really nice and easily and their little beaky teeth act as grips on the other end. Place over a barbecue fire (watch those feathers disappear faster than an Essex girl’s knickers on a first date) and baste with oil when turning over. Everyone loves a bit of bird skin but do go easy if you are watching your weight. Serve with a side salad and a chilled glass of Chardonnay.

I hope you have enjoyed my guide to disposing of your dead pets in a ecologically sound manner. And for those of you softcocks yapping on that “I wuv my little snookle-poops far to much to eat him” you might be interested in my next chapter of pet care in which I will be providing interesting insights into providing your pet with the love and affection that they deserve.

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huh?

Friday blues

I fucking hate weekends. Two retarded days in which life is simply not worth living other than a quick thrill on Sunday mornings when I pick up my copy of The News of the World in order keep abreast of financial news and politics.

• I make sure that my shopping is done in our allocated lunch hour during the week, so if my assistant doesn't buy my bread on a Friday I have to wait until Monday before I can make any toast. This shits me – I like to have soft boiled egg and soldiers on a Saturday morning and it’s not fair that I have to go without just because my staff are delayed during their lunchtime waiting in the queue to pick up my dry cleaning
  
• As y’all may know, I only take a dump during working hours. It gives me great satisfaction that I am getting paid to wipe my bum and even more joy that I am not paying for the loo roll either. Sometimes I even take laxatives if I fancy getting paid a bit of overtime. The downside is the bowel blockage I have to endure the whole bloody weekend.
  
• Obviously I only blog Mondays to Fridays – there would be no point in having a job if I suddenly started using the weekends to dick about on the interweb thingy, innit?
  
• No porn downloading on a Saturday or Sunday – I’m not paying for all that bandwidth myself, thank you very much. I simply block off an hour in my diary in the mornings to ‘conceptualise’ then trawl through midgetjerkcircle.com until our company server is full
  
• My nose clogs up all weekend – I am hardly going to pick and deposit bogies under my own dining room table, am I? that would be gross

Fuck. It’s gone 5pm on a Friday afternoon. Time to go home. I am sooooo depressed….

Can you see Jesus?

politics

Right well we just had this election-thingy-whatever in the UK. None of the candidates were even remotely fuckable and therefore my valued vote went completely to waste. Actually, I might have voted for the pompous, tubby geezer who hangs about with that party that is not in power here - I think they are called the National Front or something - ‘cos at least he made an effort to appeal to us wimmin by bleaching his hair white. In reality I couldn’t be arsed to get out of bed and cast a vote for a dude on the losing team. I’m shallow like that.

Its true to say that human nature dictates that we ALL want to be on the winning team. It therefore makes sense that from now onwards Manchester United runs the government and – by default - all of our wars. Sir Alex Fergusson will be a fabulous Prime Minister – anyone who enforces by discipline splitting dissidents’ skulls with a football boot is my type of bad boy and just the person we need to be shooting our bombs. And with a Minister of Defence like Rio Ferdinand not only will we see off those pesky Iraqis, but finally England may actually win something too.

It makes sense people - football is so similar to war we may as well kill two birds with one stone. And before you all start yapping on about ‘our boys dying in war’ let me remind you that the English Premiership consists largely of foreign players and therefore none of our own lads will actually die. Us English will be howling abuse at those risking their lives and proudly rubbing our fat bellies well within the safety zone as we eat meat pies and heckle those risking their lives - we'll be just like real politicians.

As an added bonus for once the Yanks would actually be quite good to include in the competition – judging by the amount of ‘friendly fire’ they indulge in they would hand victory to us on a plate simply by the amount of own goals they score.

Before the historians among you start muttering dissent let me point out that we can equally match that Thousand-Year-War thingy that those Israeli geezers keep moaning about – anyone who survived the ‘omg-it’s-like-being-on-a-desert-island-for-a-year-with-only-Lucifer-for-company’ played out by Liverpool and Chelsea on Tuesday will view mass slaughter, napalm bombs and hostage rape as being utterly girls-blouse in comparison.

Look. There are four teams that have consistently occupied the top four positions in the Premiership in the past 15 years. There are 4 countries that have consistently dominated world politics in the same period. FFS people – what would you rather do? Shit on your rivals and have a quickie fist fight or die in napalm?

Make goals, not war. You know it makes sense.

Ja ja

As y’all know, I am an international woman of mystery and a cultural icon to boot.

Having just spent the past 2 days in Frankfurt, I am happy to share with those less cultured than I what I have learned about Germany:

1. There’s fuck all English in Germany! Everything is in fuckin’ German – I shit you not. Road signs? German. Menus? German! Even the fuckin’ newspapers are all in German. I mean seriously, what’s the point in a united Europe if these obscure foreign languages are still going to exist?
   
2. There is no more Deutsch Mark – they just use those gay Euros
   
3. There is fuck all fruit and vegetables in the whole of Germany. All there is to eat is meat and potato. And schitnzel. Not sure what a schnitzel actually is but it definitely didn’t taste like broccoli to me. I have no idea how Germans take a dump – my gut is so clogged up at the moment it feels like I swallowed a meat curtain.
   
4. Germans don’t work on a Tuesday. I’m not fucking kidding – I woke up this morning armed with a credit card I stole from some dude on the plane and was intending to shop my tits off. Nothing was open! Instead, there was a large bicycle race through central Frankfurt and all the locals were pissed by 10am. I think this is a fantastic law and I am going to write to the British Prime Minister, George Bush, and suggest that England adopts the same laws, seeing us Poms run Europe.
   
5. Even though a lap dance costs a hefty 20 gay Euros you still aren’t allowed to fondle the fraulein’s puppies

I suggest that you print this handy guide out in case you ever visit Germany. You will not be sorry.

Oh yeah…and another little tip – for fuck’s sakes don’t mention the war.

Whassup gang?

Artwork by Human Descent - this guy is awesome. Worship him. Buy his stuff.

So. It has come to my attention that the word about town is that I am dead. I’m not fucking dead awwight...I am simply distracted exploring my femininininininity.

Now that I have moved to the UK, what better time to pop across to Latvia and take advantage of the cheap cosmetic surgery? Armed with a photo of my idol in life, the Beast of Wildenstein, I am happy to report that my surgery has been very fucking successful. I am now half cat.

Admittedly I am finding it hard to roll a joint now that I have paws, but let me tell you people – fisting when you have a set of paws is a complete doddle. Who cares about my sardine-breath – the advantages of having a tail far outweighs the disadvantages of having to dash out of meetings in order to wash my arse. Annoyingly it seems as though my boss is not very happy about the litter tray I have been forced to swap with my in tray. Fuck him, I say! Cats are people too, you know! We pay taxes!

Life as a half cat really isn’t that different from being human and I intend spending the next few months taking as many drugs as I possibly can seeing as I have another 8 lives spare up my sleeve.

So. Have ya’s missed me?