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.
.

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.

.

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.