25 July 2007

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.

18 July 2007


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.

12 July 2007

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.

09 July 2007


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…