The Jungle

Lolcats

2007-08-15T19:57:00.001+01:00

lolcats

Hippy shit

2007-07-25T21:54:00.000+01:00

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

2007-07-19T22:36:00.001+01:00

Commuting

2007-07-18T00:10:00.000+01:00

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

2007-07-12T23:24:00.000+01:00

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

2007-07-09T19:08:00.000+01:00

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

2007-06-28T12:21:00.000+01:00

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

2007-06-27T08:38:00.000+01:00

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

2007-06-25T11:12:00.000+01:00

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

2007-06-22T16:29:00.001+01:00

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

2007-06-20T02:13:00.000+01:00

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

2007-06-17T20:01:00.000+01:00

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

2007-06-15T16:56:00.001+01:00

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

2007-06-12T00:00:00.000+01:00

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

2007-06-08T00:03:00.000+01:00

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

2007-06-04T19:36:00.000+01:00

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

2007-06-01T22:06:00.001+01:00

Oral

2007-05-30T18:18:00.000+01:00

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

2007-05-27T21:27:00.000+01:00

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

2007-05-24T21:05:00.000+01:00

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

2007-05-22T20:32:00.000+01:00

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

2007-05-19T11:04:00.000+01:00

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?
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.
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?
The "I'll be home in five minutes..." phone call is it REALLY worth it. Do it.
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.
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?’
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.
There is no need to terminate your phone call when you go to the loo. Especially if you are taking a crap.
Wear your headset even if you are not on a call. Chicks love it. They will offer you sex.
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

2007-05-16T21:17:00.000+01:00

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?

2007-05-14T16:29:00.000+01:00

Friday blues

2007-05-11T17:29:00.000+01:00

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?

2007-05-07T19:33:00.000+01:00

politics

2007-05-04T20:44:00.000+01:00

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

2007-05-01T19:52:00.000+01:00

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:

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?
There is no more Deutsch Mark – they just use those gay Euros
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.
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.
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?

2007-04-27T23:51:00.000+01:00

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?

Evolution

2006-10-18T22:12:00.000+01:00

The area on a female’s body between the hips and the tits is called a ‘waste’ is because there is heaps more un-used space for an extra pair of tits.

In the scientific interests of mankind and the progression of the human race I gonna have a word with my cosmetic surgeon to see if he can turn this redundant area into a zip-lock pouch. The mathematics are simple – my fat gut can easily be removed with some liposuction and the blubber that is pumped out can be nicely spread over my arse with some kind of medical spatula to even out my hail-damage. The saggy skin left on my belly can then be folded upwards and neatly stitched to craft a fashionable and functional purse.

My new lady pouch will be used to store a spare set of house keys, a couple of beers in case of an emergency and my large stash of pot. Throw in a spare tampon, my mobile phone, a condom on the off-chance that I do actually get laid again in my lifetime plus my lipstick and I think I am just about sorted.

When my gut is utterly crammed with stuff I will be able to pretend I am pregnant, thus pilfering seats on trains from people less pregnant than me. Anyone who frowns at me drinking beer and pulling cones when I am with child can fuck off – there are WAY too many do-gooders in the world.

God, I am clever. Feel free to adore me.

Over and out

2006-07-08T05:35:00.000+01:00

Goodbye Australia. Even after 9 years together we were never really meant to be, were we? A bit like ham & peanut butter sandwiches - sounded great on paper but didn't really sit too well in the tummy in reality. I wish you well Australia - just not in the cricket.

That is all.

The Jungle will be hibernating for a while. Please send beer.

Bored at work?

2006-06-28T14:51:00.000+01:00

Across
1. Choking Kojak
3. A device for finding furniture in the dark.
4. Soft and warm when you go to bed but hard and stiff when you wake up
6. A type of food that never digests and is clearly visible in one’s shit
8. Your employer
11. A poop milkshake
13. nut sack
15. Prevents males from shitting on their testicles
18. _______ Week (Common term for a woman’s menstrual period)
19. The ugliest kid in Grade 2
20. World Champion and all round nice guy?
21. One who has undesirable or negative qualities

Down
2. The similarity between a choir boy and a queer boy
3. A foodstuff high in protein
5. Occurs when you use Herbal Essence shampoo
7. Frequent public areas in search for having sexual intercourse with the same gender
8. An activity frequently conducted in the shower
9. An animal with a cunt half way up it’s back (2 words)
10. Computer V.D.
12. A long word for a short word
14. ( + )( + )
16. A Blogger who doubles as a human coathanger
17. The rounded part of a man’s knob
.

Click here for the answers

Re-cycle your old sex toys

2006-06-24T03:56:00.000+01:00

The coat hanger
Retired black strapons look fantastic in the Hallway or in bathrooms. Never forget the rule: Style plus practicality = tasteful. Do remember to neatly trim the attachment belt off and I urge you to use matching black screws. Do not use your coat hanger as a towel rail or bathrobe hanger if it is made of jelly-like rubber – your garment will in all likelihood end up on the floor.

Bicycle Handlebars
I guess the only person interested in this would be Egan. But just in case we have any other budding cyclists among us, the double dong is perfect replacement for your boring old metal handlebars. Make a statement! Announce your presence! Your style reminder here is not to simply attach your bell on the bellend – the testicles are usually squeezable and I recommend you slice them open and install an amusing foghorn inside.

The Mortar & Pestle
Your broken buttplug is perfect for crushing garlic, spices and peppercorn. Make sure you really have retired this little device though and are never tempted to bring it back into the bedroom. It is very difficult to orgasm with traces of chilli on your bean. Male readers be warned – your bum will smell of garlic if you multi-task your new pestle.

Toilet Roll Holder
Tired of granny’s knitted bog roll covers? Step into the 21st century and convert your ‘old favorite’ into a stylish bog roll holder. 6” dead vibrators will hold one roll and 9” will hold two. Do not use your old 14” whopper for this purpose as they are usually too wide and result in your loo roll getting stuck.

Cake Icer
No one likes their cakes to be badly iced, do they? Put an end to those blotchy roses and squiggly lines – your old double thrusters is a perfect cake icer. Can also be used for biscuits, doughnuts and flans. And let's face it – it was fairly useless as a sex toy anyhow.

Pull my finger

2006-06-20T13:09:00.000+01:00

No matter what nationality, culture or religion you are the common bond that all humans share is shit-flavoured air.

The fart is merely a wise burp that took the elevator, yet the social reaction to rectal emissions way transcends loud accoustics and a horrifying smell. It is difficult to know why such a pleasing pastime can be so vilified by so many people – after endless scientific research I can only conclude that farts are embarrassing firstly because they fucking stink and secondly because of the risk of gravy-pants.

My scientific research concluded that 'killing a canary' is considered disgusting when performed by vegetarians and fat people, yet humorous when performed by the dog. It is not clear as to why human beings ask each other who farted in a social setting and it is certainly a mystery of science as to why people sitting in hard plastic chairs still attempt a silent fart.

Society’s attitude to farting really is hypocritical when you consider what an entertaining pursuit it is for all of us when conducted in private – not only does everyone like the smell of their own death breath, but thunderingly loud panty-burps are enormously satisfying and soothing for all of us.

This leads me to conclude there are two entirely conflicting genres of farting: the first being your own farts where you are the star of the show and the second is someone elses farts in which you are the hapless spectator.

Usually in public most of us will try to avoid an obvious trouser cough by attempting the Stealth Fart – it is difficult to retain your dignity if you 'step on a duck' in company. If you do commit a social fart pas however there are really only two ways to deal with the ensuing discomfart:

You can ignore the fart and pretend it never occurred. Personally I do not employ this approach because the embarrassment remains with me, the farter. Unless you have a chair nearby to scrape on the floor or another handy fart-like sound at your disposal to employ as a decoy, do not ignore the Fart Accompli.
A better tactic is to loudly draw attention to the fart to emphasise that not only have you have broken one of society's universal taboos but you are hugely proud of your efforts. The re-affirmation of your fartality neatly transfers the embarrassment from the farter to the audience.

The average human being farts 12 times a day. That’s approximately 350,000 farts per lifetime. Approximately one fart in 10,000 results in a shart – although this number increases with age. Approximately 1 fart in 100,000 will result in a complete ‘follow through’. This means that we will shit our pants approximately 3 times each in our adult lifetime. I personally have 2 to go.

I am quite happy to blog about the time I crapped my pants but as a good host I think it's only right that y'all tell me your poopy-pants stories first.

Get rich quick

2006-06-18T13:25:00.000+01:00

1. Print note out on your printer.
2. Roll note up
3. Snort large line of coke
4. Unroll note and lick residue off
5. Take note to your bank and swap for local currency
6. Repeat until you are rich

You're welcome.

Five jobs worse than yours

2006-06-15T13:17:00.000+01:00

Bomb Disposal Dude
Bomb Guys are not like trainee hairdressers who make a mistake - bombs are not hair and your limbs do not grow back. You probably don’t want to do this job if you have shaky hands or poor eyesight or tend to show up to work still pissed from the night before. If you marry a Bomb Guy you are likely to have great Guy Fawkes celebrations.

Shit Sifter
the lady who operates the colonic irrigation machine has three awful aspects to her job. Firstly she has to stick a large tube up your clenched arse. Next she has to walk into the shit-stenched room half way through and massage your tummy. Finally her last chore is to sift through your shit to test your fiber count when you’re all done. If you marry a Shit Sifter it is unlikely you will discuss her day at the office much.

Jizz Mopper
This is the person on the set of an porn flick whose job is to clean up any male ejaculate that splattered about the place during the money shot. And this is the glamorous aspect of this trade – aging Jizz Moppers frequently end their careers wiping spunk off private booths in dirty movie houses. If you marry a Jizz Mopper, you probably won’t eat a lot of porridge.

Chicken Sexer
This is totally true – I swear I am not making it up. People wank chickens off and collect the spunk in little tubes. I think this is probably how eggs are made although I am not really sure how the jizz gets into the eggshell after that. Maybe they inject it in with a syringe and then glue the little hole up afterwards. If you marry a Chicken Sexer you are likely to end up giving really really good handjobs.

Landfill Monitor
Trash festers and can become both toxic and infected so all you bitches out there that sneak hazardous materials into your weekly garbage should spare a thought for the guy that has to trawl through reeking decade-old landfills to stop the world from blowing up. If you are married to one of these folk, you can expect a lifetime’s supply of free recycled kitchenware.

I would very much like to know if there are worse jobs out there than these, especially if you have actually done the job yourself. Oh yeah – and have a nice weekend.

Skeeters

2006-06-13T12:02:00.000+01:00

Alarm clocks would be a whole heap more practical if they sounded like mosquitoes when they were going off – the dentist-drill sound of a hungry mozzie is living proof that you really don’t have to be large to be effective.

Formerly known as ‘bloodsuckers’ until religious evangelists were invented, the mosquito literally means "little fly" in Spanish. I am not sure if this is similar to Spanish Fly – not even I could incorporate these whiny little bitches into my sexual repertoire.

Male mosquitoes are nectar eaters – it is only the chicks that suck blood. They tend to be attracted to overweight, fair-skinned human males and for all you dirty bastards out there that don’t wash, they also happen to love sweaty people and dirty feet.

Mosquitos have attitude – of that there is no doubt. Flailing arms do not deter them and hiding under the sheets rarely works either – the mosquito knows that at some point you have to come up for air. You are advised to let these scum drink their fill once they have started snacking on you – unless you kill them the persistent little fuckers will almost certainly return for more until they are full.

Mosquitoes are not just annoying – they also happen to be the deadliest animal on earth. The malarial parasite carried by them kills a million children a year in Africa alone. The little blood junkies (mozzies, not African kids) are largely unaffected by even the strongest anti-malarial drugs.

Notoriously lazy little cunts, most breeds fly less than a mile during their entire lifetime making them even more languid than the domestic cat. Unlike cats though, mosquitoes will never ignore you. It is unclear as to whether these little freeloaders have a valid place in the ecosystem at all – unless they were created simply to make flies seem more attractive. It appears that other than killing people and ruining sunsets on the beach, their only goals in life are feeding and reproduction.

The only amusing aspect of mosquitoes is that human male practitioners of penis puppetry can perform 'The Mozzie' – the act of squeezing around the base of the genitals so hard that the shaft looks like the stinger and the balls look like eyes.

That is all I have to say about these creatures. Goodbye.

Laundry

2006-06-10T01:13:00.000+01:00

Because I am a filthy little troll I generally always get more than one wear out of most of my clothes before I see fit to do the laundry:

Frilly knickers: n/a - don’t own any
Tracksuit pants: worn until they stink
Long sleeved t-shirt: at least 2 wears – sometimes as many as 3 if I turn it inside out
Sports gear: just once
Denim jeans: at least 4 wears
Rubber sex apparel: numerous - usually hosed down when it gets all scummy and gungy
Bed Sheets: once a week but only due to dirty paw prints left by the cats. Otherwise during sexual drought definitely 2 weeks.

Dry cleaning in my opinion is for pussies. Fuck getting stuff dry cleaned – it all goes in the wash in my house. I don’t fuck about with all of those fancy-pants settings on the machine either and nor have I ever read a washing label on an item of clothing – it all just goes in on Cycle 3, which according to the manufacturer’s icon is for cottons and synthetics.

Once the washing machine has done its thing I remove the clothing, chuck it all in the tumble drier and silently retort “oh fuck you too” to the environment – no washing lines for this princess.

Because I am busy and important I do not iron my clothing - I have never even owned an iron in my entire life. Once my clothing is dry I simply take it upstairs in the laundry basket and there it sits in my bedroom as I use it directly from the basket. I very rarely manage to muster up enough interest to transfer it from the laundry basket to my cupboard - I prefer to spend my spare time on more practical pursuits such as flicking my bean and drinking beer rather than folding and packing my laundry.

It doesn’t matter where my clothing is lying about the place – on the floor, in the clean clothing basket or half hanging in the dirty laundry basket - I subconsciously know exactly what is clean, what is dirty and what is somewhere in-between.

I do admit that around half way through the week my system does start unravelling as semi-dirty items (such as a long sleeved t-shirt only worn once and therefore technically still clean) end up back in the laundry basket or possibly – due to my bad aim – what was meant to be thrown into the dirty laundry basket in fact ended up in the clean laundry basket. And then add to the mix that that I tend to leave my clothes lying on the floor once I have taken them off at night and really by the end of the week it's all starting to get a bit hit and miss.

Anyhow...now that I am on such a roll with all this domestic stuff, what do you say next week we discuss my dish washing strategies, eh?

Smoking

2006-06-03T10:52:00.000+01:00

Dear Cigarettes,

Its taken me 20 years to see your true colours and frankly you stink.

There was a time when I was young and foolish and I thought I loved you – truly I did. But the slavery of our relationship has transformed love to hate and now it’s time for you to let me go – release me from this hold you have over my soul for once and for all. This time I mean it – you are no longer welcome in my life.

I’ve left you in the past and I was happy without you. Yet somehow you always managed to sweet talk me back – usually late at night when I was under the influence of alcohol or drugs. In my drug-crazed state I would think “Oh just one night won’t harm…I am over you…I will have my fun and walk away in the morning…its just for old time's sake”. And in the moment – yes, you were what I wanted.

Yet every time I gave in to you I would wake up the next day to find you still hanging around and I was powerless to resist you. And that’s when the guilt and shame kicked in, leaving me scared to tell my friends and family that we were together again. Dreading the look of pity and sorrow in their eyes. Sneaking around with you behind their backs for a period. But it was just a matter of time before I would openly be seen out with you and I would feel weak and ashamed.

You think I still love you? Well I don’t. I think of you and all I remember is fear, hate and insecurity. You never loved me – you abused me physically and polluted the air I breathed. I gave you so much time and loyalty and all you did was erode my confidence and manipulate me into believing that I couldn’t cope with life without you. You shamed me on social occasions, you disempowered me and you drained me of my energy.

Yet stupidly I stuck by you, wasting my money on you for the ‘pleasure’ of having you in my life. The hours I spent justifying our toxic relationship to my friends, loved ones and even myself. Even my cats hated you. Everyone else could see the damage you were inflicting on me yet like a fool I closed my eyes and steadfastly refused to listen.

Our relationship has seen years of needless suffering on my part while you slowly set about killing me and stripping me of my self-respect. The constant fear that you were going to give me some awful disease – the self-recriminations and the distrust every time I crumbled and went back to you sobbing like a baby. Well that was then and this is now. I don’t need you. I don’t want you.

Good riddance, Cigarettes.

Yours unfaithfully,

Jungle Jane

No thanks, I'm full

2006-05-30T09:14:00.003+01:00

Blog relationships

2006-05-28T00:21:00.002+01:00

The I Love You But I'm Shy blogger reads your blog without fail but never ever comments – they worship you from afar. In blogging terms these are lurkers.

The One Night Stand blogger comes from nowhere, leaves one comment and then disappears never to be seen again

The Stalker is a blogger that always visits your blog using an IP blocker. Eventually they will be rumbled because all free IP blockers fail regularly and spectacularly. They just fucking do, people.

The Selfish Lover blogger will always comment first and yell 'Yay I’m first' without saying anything else. They cum, they leave and that’s all you will get from them.

Unrequited Love is when you adore someone else’s blog, you read it religiously, comment feverishly but they never fucking visit your blog. Eventually we give up on them and either read their stuff and not comment, or we get in a huff and stop visiting them entirely.

The Let’s Just Be Friends blogger forms a really good connection with you. They comment on your blog and you comment on theirs. Then just when you are feeling a connection with them their visits become scare and their comments half-arsed and nonsensical. Eventually they disappear entirely and it becomes clear that they were just dumping you kindly.

The I Can't Commit blogger visits you here and there. you know they love your work yet their visit patterns are sporadic and unpredictable. Somehow they just never become one of your tight gang.

The It's Just A Physical Thing blogger visits you regularly but only comments when there are dirty pictures on your posts.

The Deadbeat Dad blogger has a tons of profiles and starts up a succession of blogs that never really go anywhere. They use their profiles to cause shit in other bloggers lives and then shut up shop and move onto the next one.

The Slut blogger is someone who has a blogroll that fucking goes on forever yet doesn’t form blogging friendships of any substance. No one wants to invest time in forming a relationship with a blog slut although we are all very happy to drop in here and there and enjoy their charms.

The Blog Crush is one of the few blogging scenarios that can spill out into real life. It's unclear as to how many of these ever translate into physical relationships - perhaps y'all can let me know if you've ever actually hooked up with your blog crush.

The Happily Married blogger visits your blog, comments and lot and stays with your forever. You visit their blog and you remain loyal to them too. Blogging can be polygamous in this respect – we can all have several very happy marriages and no-one get jealous.

The Unhappily Married blogger is someone with whom you are constantly niggling. Really when it comes down to it you are coming to the conclusion that you loathe them. It is likely that you will end up in a huge blog spat at some stage and then finally seek a blogging divorce.

The I Want A Divorce blogger. We have all either been part of or witnessed ugly cyber wars in which people end up in a blogging divorce. You stop visiting their blog and they don't visit yours. In extreme cases, your friends get dragged into it and can't visit anymore either in fear of pissing you off by being 'disloyal'.

The Married Too Long blogger is someone who used to interact with you meaningfully but now is very obvious that they doesn’t actually read your posts. You can always tell when someone comments without having read your post or just skimmed through it and picked out keywords to comment on.

NOTE: there is a part of each of these types within us all.

SPECIAL NOTE TO EGAN: yet another serious post from me. I am on a roll with all this philosophy shit, huh?

Lovestruck

2006-05-23T12:17:00.000+01:00

Entering into a love relationship with someone new requires commitment. So does insanity.

In my limited experience there seems to be two genres of falling for someone: the brutally awful vom-vom type and the kittens/roses/fluffy type.

The first type - Bad Love - is a merry little goblin who dances around your heart and then turns on you with a machine gun. Actually Bad Love is fairly easy to spot thanks to our inbuilt gut instincts, although most of us choose to interpret these signals as the urge to take a crap.

The second type – Good Love – is a lot more enjoyable for you, but hideous for your mates who walk off from your lovestruck babbling feeling like their ears are bleeding. Your constant 100-watt smiles, glazed faraway facial expression and the “If you are going to walk on thin ice you might as well dance” attitude makes everyone want to stab themselves in the eye with a very sharp pen.

Either way you look at it, your friends draw the short straw every time you get the horn for someone new. Sometimes it goes on for months until eventually we either get together with our new love or the pin is pulled on our daydreams. And let’s face it - when the pin is pulled, Mr Grenade is not your friend.

Seeing as your friends are the ones that truly suffer every time you fall in love I think it is only fair that they be given the opportunity to circumvent all this crap.

I will get the ball rolling. From now onwards, anybody wishing to date me will need to apply to my Panel of Concerned Friends, chaired by the lovely Mone. You will be required to pay the application fee ($229) and attend a two hour interview during which you will be assessed to see whether or not you are boyfriendable.

Your morals will be tested by your ability to avert your eyes when my best mate takes her top off.
You will be required to pay for expensive champagne to gauge your Levels of Stinginess.
You will be handed an inflatable butt plug and timed on how long it takes you to insert it.
A large cat will be placed in your lap and if you flinch you will be scored as a cat hater.
You will be required to display your penis to establish whether or not you have foreskin and if you do, exactly how flappy it is.
Finally you will be asked to pitch the panel in 10 minutes or less as to why you believe that you are a suitable applicant for the position of My New Boyfriend.

The Panel’s decision will be final and no correspondence will be entered into.

I feel sure that I have covered all bases. If I have forgotten anything else that my panel should be considering I urge you to let me know. If you would like my panel to consider your application please say so and I will forward you the paperwork. Bear with me people...this tough love system benefits the whole world. Remember that love is a disease that pollutes the brain and renders a person part-retarded.

That is all. Thank you for your interest.
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Liar!

2006-05-21T01:21:00.000+01:00

A liar is someone who tells fibs in order to save themselves embarrassment or penalty. Everyone has their price (mine is $4.55) although it is also true to say that a little inaccuracy sometimes does save a ton of explanation.

I completed a very sobering exercise in self-analysis this week. Walking about with a notebook and a pen I was startled to discover that I average out at 9 lies per day. That’s almost the same as my daily fart tally! The only difference between me talking through my arse and blowing hot air out of it is that my lies smell fishy whereas my farts smell more like ripe bolognese.

Some of these untruths are vocational lies – the shit I spin my colleagues and clients in order to continue to appear diligent. I estimate that these account for approximately 60% of my overall daily tally. Others are hobby lies – the crap I sprout to my mates about their weight, looks and cooking skills.

Then we add to the mix the semi-lies that I am certain even Jesus would be cool with – a bit of truth sprinkled in with a total fabrication. An example of valid semi-lying would be telling a telesales caller that there are no women under 40 living in your household and then hanging up.

Lies don’t have to be an outright statement – sometimes deception occurs when information is withheld. There are also more marginal forms of deception to consider - evasion, euphemism and exaggeration. This accounts for a lot of my non-truths – every time I write a blog post for example. Does that make it okay because it's for entertainment?

Lying seems to be so essential to life that bible-types even invented a good-lie category: the white lie. Lying to help someone else is probably covered by that genre and so is self-enhancement misrepresentations - lying to make yourself look better while not hurting another. My resume springs to mind here.

I’ve always considered myself to be an exceptionally honest person - a woman of enormous integrity. It is core to my identity as a human being and I loathe dishonesty in others. Completing this little exercise this week has shocked me senseless. I’m a complete cunt! I fib constantly! This must be addressed. If anyone has any bright ideas on how I can become a truthful person please sing out.

I know that god kills a little kitten every time you masturbate. I sure as fuck hope he doesn’t extend this to fibbing.

Junk

2006-05-18T15:17:00.000+01:00

Vulva. Penis. Rectum.

Hands up those of you whose parents used those words to describe your genitals when you were a kid? It seems to me that I am the only person I know whose parents didn't teach their child words such as noo-noo, wee-wee or poo-poo to refer to their junk.

Mind you although my parents did have the balls to call a twat a twat and a knob a knob, I have to say I can't remember them ever needing to say out loud the words 'clitoris' or 'scrotum' in my entire life. And of course like all good parents, they did lie to me prolifically in other areas – my mother solemnly assured me my entire childhood that chopping onions made you cry black tears. I was 18 years old when I discovered that it was her mascara running.

So how is it that kids finally find out that the anatomically correct name for a doodle is in fact a cock? And armed with their newfound biology knowledge do they confront their parents and demand the truth, or does this become a taboo subject that is simply never discussed? If so, does this mean that families continue to call their genitals silly names long after the child has grown up? Do you – the adult – use your embarrassing childhood words to describe your nasties when talking to your parents now to this day? As a parent what words do you intend using on your own children?

Maybe we should just cut the crap and refer to all genitals when speaking to children under 10 as “Cheeseburgers”, yeah?
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How long is your twat?

2006-05-16T14:11:00.000+01:00

A yucky soggy tampon string squelching around your knickers is pretty fucking gross, let me tell you. Does anyone know why the strings are soooooo fucking long? Tampons strings should emulate trousers and come in lengths - Short, Regular or Tall. Alternatively tampon boxes could come with a ruler and cutter on the side so that ladies could measure up and trim the string according to their requirements.

It has of course occurred to me that possibly I simply have a freakish twat – although I have in the past enjoyed recreational fisting with my lady-friends I have never actually fisted myself and am therefore unable to make accurate comparison. No one ever lost their head up there to my knowledge either - although I did hear some muffled cries for help south of the border the last time I got back from holiday.

Now being a woman of science, I approached the mystery mathematically. Clearly I either have a hilariously short vagina or tampon string designers are all married to blue whales. What I do know with certainty is that my particular brand of tampon and its string measures out at a whopping 10 inches (25cm). After having sat on a ruler and marked my cave entrance with a piece of chalk I can report that – once I had removed the splinters – my vagina turned out to be a bit like a french fry – a mere 3 inches (8cm) long.

Making a note to ask Karen Little to kindly measure and report back to me the vaginal lengths of all of her patients, I decided continue my investigations and check out other women on my local adult sex site. Unlike the men’s section where penis size is a category (It’s amazing how many guys on the internet have 9 inch cocks) women’s vagina size is not. I immediately emailed the site administrator suggesting that they add a cavity depth category for ladies – I recommended they offer checkboxes labelled Grape, Orange or Watermelon to make it more feminine and less clinical.

So here I am now sitting at my computer and chewing the end of my ruler, and I have to say that I am just as confused as when I started: If my 3 inch vagina is normal (awaiting confirmation from Karen Little) and tampons in Australia are the same as everywhere else in the world yet most men have dicks that are 6 inches (9 inches if you hang out in chat rooms) then I think its clear to see the human anatomy is really quite fucking flawed and in fact the female vagina is totally way too small.

Fuck. No wonder we all end up having anal...

JJ screensaver

2006-05-13T08:49:00.000+01:00

To download your JJ screensaver click this link

and say yes to all the prompts.

Networking

2006-05-11T10:41:00.000+01:00

I’ve been out of town for the past couple of days on the most entertaining work conference I have ever attended.

I made sure that I booked into my hotel and the conference under Tickersoid’s name – really it seem utterly pointless to get a bad reputation myself.

I have my conference entertainment down pat these days - after checking in and collecting ‘my’ conference name tag, I always take a seat at the very front row of the seminar. I make sure I am wearing a short skirt and no knickers and at timely intervals I entertain myself by opening my legs and flashing a clean-shaven beaver at the stunned male presenter. Not only are they unable to keep track of what they are saying but naturally they find it impossible to disguise their erections in front of 700 conference delegates. For maximum effect the flashing should always be timed for when they are in the middle of the stage rather than safely standing behind the podium.

A couple of tomato sauce sachets come in handy at work seminars. I pick a female audience member of the audience who is wearing white, wait for a tea break and then smear the contents of the sachet onto the middle of the seat of her chair. If you are very discreet you can even take photos of the look on her face when she returns and upload them to your blog afterwards.

But the part of work conferences I enjoy the most are the nightly social networking drinks functions. When I meet people I swap business cards with them as soon as I possibly can and then immediately assume their identity when speaking to the next person I meet. At the end of the conversation I hand them the last person’s business card, continuing this bad behaviour for the rest of the evening. By the end of the night not only have I confused the identities of the entire gathering but I have also made all sorts of outlandish promises in the name of other people in high positions.

Finally after checking out the next day I leave a plastic fake dog shit on the entrance stairs to the hotel. It goes without saying that I adorn it with a small paper flag with the photograph of the lead speaker on one side and ~~Tickersoid’s~~ Egan's company logo on the other side.

Anyhow. Enough about work stuff. Have y’all been behaving while I’ve been gone?

Sport

2006-05-08T13:19:00.000+01:00

As a top athlete I believe that the world would be a lot more interesting if shagging was declared a sport. Competitive Shagging is such a fantastic idea I am surprised the government isn’t implementing an Elite Athlete training scheme. Even feminists would love it - for the first time in history men would actually prefer to watch women’s sport.

Competitive Shagging is not an easy life. It requires years of mouth ulcers, groin injuries and crotch rot for those who are training in tropical climates. In return our heroes are subjected to the humiliation of soft-cock, the agony of premature ejaculation and shattered dreams of instant disqualification due to burst condoms – all in front of a packed stadium of hecklers yelling “Is it in yet??” as they climax to a Whitney Housten tune blaring through squeaky speakers.

Naturally athletes would compete in categories based on age, gender and sexual orientation. I propose to stage the inaugural World Rooting Championships with the following classes:

Heterosexual (one-on-one male/female rooting)
Homosexual (male)
Homosexual – (female)
Veterans (over 40)
Masters (over 60)
Mixed Doubles (team event - 2 couples per team)

Just like surfing, ice skating and gymnastics Competitive Shagging would be judged on both technical and creative execution. Like high board diving, points will be awarded for manoeuvres and multiplied by the degree of difficulty. A few examples that spring to mind are Oral (degree of difficulty 1.4), Anal (degree of difficulty 4.5) and for Teams, the Daisy Chain (degree of difficulty 5.1).

Sport is about fair play, so of course drugs cannot be condoned – as such I intend blood testing all ~~male~~ competitors for Viagra before the contest. I am not sure yet whether I will allow Bookmakers or not in case they get arresting for pimping. We won’t have any cheerleaders either – a gaggle of strippers is just what the crowd needs to get them in the mood.

You cynical folk out there are probably wondering if is not simply a ploy to pull a root on my part? Not so - due to my commitment to ongoing celibacy I intend to take care of the commentating side of things with a style similar to that of a horse race commentator.

Auditions for the judging panel will be taking place in the next week or two. If you think you have what it takes please state your qualifications and experience. Note that masturbation is not a criteria and nor is the size of your porn collection.

And the winner is...

2006-05-06T13:22:00.000+01:00

Well seeing as you were all so utterly hopeless the Contest Administrator had no choice other to declare every single one of you who participated a winner. Enjoy your prize orgy - I am sure that you will agree that I have been fair, accurate and highly complimentary to you all:

~d is a new reader to the Jungle. She is very fond of snail mail. I worry about this - if ever she sends me a letter I am going to have to get me one of them forensic pens to show up the traces of snail on the writing paper. I am not sure why she simply doesn't use a pen. She likes dentists, going to church on a Wednesday and I think she hangs out at the pharmacy a heck of a lot. She points at her crotch when people ask her the time - something more of us should start doing immediately.

Beast is a fitness fanatic who doesn't realise that only a nanna owns a lace handkerchief. His nickname for his arse is Karma which I think is really quite sweet and not very beastly at all. I am not sure what would happen if karma ever bit Beast on the arse. They could maybe turn it into a movie called Karma vs Karma. Beast works in a cloud of stale fart which is possibly why he has so much trouble with his algorithms.

Brooke is a schoolteacher who adamantly refuses to accept my amendments to her teaching curriculum despite the fact that I clearly can offer the children of America a wealth of wisdom when it comes to leading a virtuous life. Brooke has the sexiest profile picture of anyone I know, although frankly I think she's aged a bit since it was taken. Brooke hates scorpions, spelling mistakes and the smell of vomit. She likes beefy Australian blokes, cigarettes and Donna Summer. She's also got a thing about roses, bless her. Currently on a blogging hiatus, Brooke is steadfastly refusing to post until you all send her a picture of you naked. Just send them via me though - I will make sure she gets them.

Captain Carl is the sex magnet of the blogging world, despite being totally devoid of a human body he can call his own. Cappy through the ages has consisted of a Pee Wee Hermin in blogger form, a plastic 10" high little wee body and more recently a floating head without any body at all. It is difficult to imagine how poor Cappy continued to blog or satisfy his army of hot chicks with these limitations and one can only assume he has a very nimble nose. More recently Cappy has acquired the body of Beck - in all likelihood this is simply a ploy to win the heart of the lovely Ing who was too fucking busy to enter this contest. Adored by men and women alike our Cappy sails the high seas, breaking a woman's heart in every port.

ChickyBabe's blog is definitely in my top 3 favorites. This i find remarkable because it's not like she ever discusses vaginas or anything, however her writing is so enchanting it often brings tears to my eyes like a very very hot curry. ChickyBabe is TERRIBLY mysterious and I am certain that if she held an auction of a photograph of herself she would be a millionaire. I am convinced that ChickyBabe looks like Tyra Banks in real life and i am never wrong about these things.

Die Murane lives in Switzerland - the home of yodelling, large mountains and a funny-arse language that I am fucking sure isn't English. Die Murane is awfully nice even though his friends wear condoms on their heads. I totally recommend that you visit Die Murane and post on his blog in whatever language you feel like. In fact i think we should all go over there right now and have a foreign language post orgy. I'll do Zulu - you lot can quarrel amongst yourselves to decide who does French.

Dorian Gray might not be an actor but he certainly stars in several of my dirty dreams. Dorian is so smoking hot that when he was made, the lord created two of him. Yes people - Dorian is the twin brother of one of my very most favorite bloggers. I am certain you would all crap yourselves if you knew who it was. I am very much looking forward to the day when Dorian marries me like his brother promised me he would. I just hope i don't get the twins confused at bed time.

Egan makes amazing animal noises and pretends that he can speak French. That is probably because he is what Australians call a "Westie". Egan is currently on a well deserved holiday in Hawaii - we all worry terribly about him because works too damn hard. Egan has a massive family - from memory I think he has 24 siblings - and their names all start with an E. Egan is so fucking fantastic that there is a street named after him in Canberra.

Erin O'Brien is the best author in the world. Her hobbies are vacuuming, washing Ann Curry's hair and leaving cakes on the sidewalk. Erin's blog is a delight to read - the only blogger who has ever made an empty tube of toothpaste amusing. A very resourceful lass is our Erin - when she runs out of clean clothing she puts on her fuck-me boots and wears a newspaper instead of a dress. If any of you are in need of a good dental hygienist, speak to Erin - she has a very good relationship with hers.

You should all visit Frobisher's blog to view for yourselves where he keeps his testicles. If you do go and visit him I suggest you stop off at your supermarket and buy some cheap sausages to take along with you. He will thank you for that and no doubt share his girly vodka cocktails that he pretends that he only drinks to take away his hangovers. Frobisher would like to be re-incarnated as a girl in order to experience childbirth. He lists his hobbies as shitting in milk bottles and watching Kerry Katona videos.

Gav is a new age sensitive guy other than his open gawking at little Nikki Webster. Gav has a very clever 3 year old who we all turn to regularly when we need life's little mysteries solved. Vag likes to do NW crosswords, attend goat slapping swingers parties and has a violent disliking for parenthesis surrounding mobile phone numbers. A true romantic, everyone should go out on at least 3 dates with our Vag. And then blog about it afterwards.

Hal Perry likes to pretend that his name is not pronounced Hell. A damn fine actor living the rock and roll life in Los Angeles let me tell you from recent experience that Hal is also a fucking great tourist guide. He does have a very odd taste in sunglasses but i guess these acting types do tend to be somewhat flamboyant. Hal's favorite food is pizza and he likes Jim Morrison a lot. If you are looking for a leading man i suggest you go straight to Hell. oh and if you are looking for someone to play a 13 year old girl with blond pigtails? Hal can do that too. He even supplies his own dress.

Henri Banks is totally the biggest spunk in the whole world. He is also an artist extraordinaire, a quirky little photographer and a very kick-bum musician. Henri lives in Germany although his blog is in English so I'm not sure whether he can speak German or not. He lives in the world of white trash so i am not terribly sure where he throws his garbage that is not white. If it wasn't for the fact that Henri is my brother i would TOTALLY do him.

Jake is a Scot who never answers his freaking email. He rides a bicycle with his wiener exposed and is the only Scotsman I know who is allergic to alcohol. Jake likes karaoke, NotFunnyChicks and cricket. Jake is completely crap at Fantasy Football and even worse at online pool. Despite the fact that Jake owns his own personal cat he assures me that he is completely heterosexual. If Jake got off his lazy arse and started posting he would definitely be the most amusing blogger i know.

This is a real tough one to crack seeing as Jemison is a brand new reader on The Jungle - we can only hope that we didn't scare him away but indulging in a gang bang on his very first visit. A master of the Holdie Outie (visit his blog to see what that means) Jemison is a caring father who gives his child band aid to repair her broken balloons. Further adding to his cuteness is the fact that he serenades his wife under magnolia trees. Gentlemen: take note.

Jesus Toast was so named long before some poser copycat popped up on ebay pretending to be a vision on a bit of stale bread. Married to an Uma Thurman lookalike, Toastie is world famous for his You Must Choose blog and his artwork of nude woman. I am not sure if Toastie also paints nude men- i am scared to ask him in case he sends his dad after me. If ever you want a great night out on the town with strippers and all, just tell Toastie you want to sign a million dollar contract with him.

A thousand pages of typing is not enough to adequately praise our favorite Scientist and Earth Child - Josh Williams. Probably my all time favorite blogger (yeah yeah I know favoritism is bad form) Josh is a friend of all moles and a gentleman to boot. Who do we all turn to when we need a batch of fresh cocaine cooked up? Where do we all run when we need money stolen from the poor to give to us, the poor? who is there to review our books even when we haven't actually written one? Step forward and allow us to worship you Josh Williams. You are an asset to Indianapolis and a man that mules worldwide are proud to count among their numbers.

Jozee loves tea although she keeps it as an ornament rather than something she drinks as one does. A great fan of shopping, Jozee works in a cafe that only appears to serve sausage and cheese. Jozee likes Janis Joplin and should definitely sing more often. If you want to marry Jozee, just ask her via instant messenger. Lads take note - fancy 'down on your knees' proposals are very 2005.

Le Chitalier is a rotting Chemist corpse with a wonderful sense of humour. Not fazed by the fact that she died at least 80 years ago, Le Chit is a shining example to old people who simply refuse to adopt modern technology. If ever you need to get hold of caffeine tablets, just drop by Le Chit's place. Of course you might want to wear nose plugs to disguise the smelling of decaying flesh, but i am fairly sure she's used to this by now. Le Chit loves coffin sex and rounding up virgins.

Maja is a Miss Clever Clogs geologist who spends her working life rubbing stones on glass to see if they are actually diamonds. Actually I am not sure if this is what geologists do - but I am sure its something to do with gravel. Maja has a sexy arse boyfriend who is also a bit of a lazy cunt when it comes to updating his blog. Maja is originally from Iceland and is therefore probably related to Bjork. I hope that she does not sing like Bjork. If you want to piss Maja off and you are male, just ask her for a plate at a barbecue.

Matty Matty Matty where do I start? Matty is joy to all those blessed with a wave of his fairy wand. Our Matty has a glamorous gay job in a glamorous gay dental surgery and is a shining example to all you kids that you can live your dream. Matty is also a dating machine despite me offering to set him up with a cute boyfriend in a snug pair of denim shorts. Matty is the sole reason that Barbra Streisand still goes on tour - without his publicity and selfless support she would be nothing. I urge you all to go read Matty's blog - he is a joy to read in an otherwise bleak world. Matty's view of the world is pink and sparkly and i think we all agree that a little bit of pink is never a bad thing. The thing i admire most about my lovely Matty is that he elected to be spanked with a paddle in high school in order to avoid detention. Matty is totally a winner to me.

Mone speaks in tongues on her blog, as well as entertaining us all with her English posts when she is not communicating with higher powers. You can always count on Mone to come to a party with heaps of whiskey but whatever you do, don't trust her with your dogs. Not unless you want them drunk in a corner somewhere. you can trust her with your cats though - and if you do hopefully she will post more pictures on her blog of her tits. EVERYONE SEND MONE YOUR CATS NOW.

Motor City Monk has a cat that you totally don't want to fuck with. Currently building a small house in which to keep his gimp, our Monk seems to spend a heck of a lot of time in his spa contemplating jet-stream orgasms. If you want to make Monk mad all you need to do is butcher a White Stripes tune and stand back and watch the sparks fly. Ladies, if ever you need a good book on anal sex, Monk knows where to get one from.

Morbid Misanthrope is well into dentistry and George Clooney. Famous for his ability to make gothic kids squeak, Morbid can be found eating sushi, caviar and tripe most days - that is when he's not standing outside airport terminals all night, shivering his nuts off and cursing the airlines. Anyone who needs to take out an restraining order should visit Morbid's blog immediately to discover all the ins and outs.

Nowhere Girl is amazing because she still uses a fax machine. If you visit her blog you should definitely not ask her whether she drinks or not. Always on the lookout for a decent carrot cake recipe, NWG is also a bit of a Thin Mint whore. She's also a total sucker for a nice set of new luggage and brand new pack of Sharpies.

Psychic Dumb Dumb is a dead ringer for Annie Defranco - oath. A woman of many talents, you have not lived and loved until you have had a Tarot reading done by PDD. Cheap and accurate - all you folk out there should stop what you are doing RIGHT NOW and head over to PDD's place for a reading. Not only is PDD a tarot reader extraordinaire, she is also a bloody good detective who is easily able to flush cowardly bullying co-workers out of the woodwork. Don't fuck with PDD - you simply won't win. PDD likes pink flamingos, has an outrageously handsome husband and a real name that would make your jaw drop. PDD is destined for greatness people. Start practicing your curtsies now.

Sausage is a mate who is very dear to my black heart. A friend through thick and thin, Sausage has been my anchor and my rock without whom I almost certainly would have shriveled up and died. A fellow Ron Jeremy fan our Sausage entertained me greatly in Los Angeles recently. She arranged for Simon Cowell to wave at me and she messed up the waxwork dummies specially for my entertainment. Although we would slit each other's throats in order to get at Axl Rose first we do truly love each other and i am happy to publicly state that in honour of our friendship she may have my sloppy seconds when I am finished with Axl. Sausage I love you very much indeed even though your hair is blue.

Steph is one of those chicks who simply never runs out of shoes. Not one to take crap from anyone our Steph is one of those chicks who stumbles across funny stuff on a daily basis. Steph can make anything situation hilarious but I warn you that her poetry is pretty fucking shocking. Steph has an army of fans who worship her like the goddess she is. If you ever meet Steph on a Big Night Out be sure to change her ringtone on her phone to something naff. she will pretend to be mad at you but I promise you she will be secretly very pleased. Give it a go - you know you want to.

Tickers is a total spunk who lives in a village with a comic book name. He is so funny and charming that I am certain he must be the local village crumpet. Although there are some who suspect he is a little bit gay, Tickers balances his pink-factor out nicely with bursts of karaoke and a butch job at the steel factory. Tickers likes Kylie shorts, starting fires and chicks with brown eyes. Don't ever go for lunch with Tickers - he can't tell the difference between a sandwich shop and optometrist. You might also want to get some household insurance before you let him anywhere near your kitchen.

Toby of the blinky eyes is a man of wit and wisdom. A law abiding citizen our Toby is president of our new as yet unnamed cult, an active member of the Seagull Extermination Society and a good contact to have should you ever need to find a body pickled in alcohol. Toby's wit and wisdom is greatly appreciated and I suggest you bookmark him immediately. He likes watching Blue Butt Monkeys piss on zoo keepers, feeding packing peanuts to his co-workers and reading Mad Magazine on the bus.

Traci-Lee Mott is a mate of mine from Essex. I score great weed from her but wish she would serve something other than chips and baked beans when I go to her house for tea. Her hobbies are soccer hooliganism, shifting stolen goods and palming her kids off onto her mum. Our Trace certainly does look after herself - she's not one to let her figure go despite having borne two mannerless children. Her boyfriend of the month likes track suit pants and gold plated jewelry.

Vince is an expert on extreme sports such as synchronised swimming. He practices extreme sport himself, having recently been on a butterfly watching holiday in Australia. Vince is very careful when he goes for a pee in case a lobster bites his dick off and is now contemplating purchasing a stainless steel penis muzzle. Go figure. Vince never eats tomato sauce in case PETA lock him up for being a cannibal and he's not afraid of showing tough guys on Harleys who's boss.

Wallycrawler is the chairman of the Canadian arm of the "I Love Tom Cruise" society. I get the vibe that he admires George Bush and Paris Hilton and although he has never said so, I am quite sure he is about to become a scientologist. Wallycrawler is everyone woman's dream and fantasy yet he remains modest and humble. Men of the worId I strongly recommend that you study Wally's moves if you want Jessica Alba to fart Happy Birthday to you. If Wally wasn't already married I would pay $1000 to spend a night with him.

Zen Wizard deserves a cheer for writing the longest blog posts known to cyberspace (other than this one of course - beat you at last, Zen) yet still somehow managing to be funny and entertaining. Zen likes to be tied up with his necktie but steadfastly refuses to admit to that openly. A lawyer by trade, Zen actually spends a lot of his day writing jolly long blogs. I am sure his employers don't mind one little bit. Zen lives in Georgia but is likely to retire in Montreal. He always says goodbye in falsetto.

-----------

Phew. I think I need a little lie down now...

Jungle orgy

2006-05-04T12:49:00.000+01:00

I was nestled on the branch of an oak tree today gleefully snooping on the rest of the jungle and scoffing on a piece of cheesecake (I do love cheesecake) when I realised that I am totally in the mood for a comment orgy.

So to kick start the filth and to see who has been paying attention lately I have provided y’all with a dirty little contest quiz. The blogger who gets the most questions correct will win a money-can’t-buy prize: a blog post on The Jungle written by me about them. Neat, huh? You may enter as many times as you want – this is an orgy after all – and I might even provide helpful clues as we go along if I feel like it.

Name three sex toys owned by Jungle Jane?
When was the last time Jungle Jane pulled a root? (month and year please)
Is Jungle Jane heterosexual, lesbian or bi-sexual?
How old is Jungle Jane?
Who is Jungle Jane’s secret blog crush?

The last question is a bit of stinker but I couldn’t exactly hand it to you on a plate, could I? If you think that you may be my blog crush feel free to crawl out of the woodwork – lurking about the place isn’t exactly gonna win you that glowing blog post, is it?

Saint Jane

2006-05-02T12:27:00.000+01:00

Those of you who think becoming a saint is a doddle let me tell you that the traditional path to canonisation is even more complex than self-treating anal warts. You need heaps of:

1. time
2. money
3. testimonies
4. miracles

They make it so damn hard its no wonder that on checking the list of 10,000 Patron Saints currently annointed I couldn’t for the life of me find the Patron Saint of Blogging. What truly shocked me though is that despite the fact that world clearly needs more wanton rooting - not less - if you flick through the list you will find no fewer than 6 Patron Saints Against Sexual Temptation alone.

When you considering the hoops one has to jump through, I figured we best all pull together as a team and kick start the process for my canonisation right now.

Working through the requirements list it appears that we might be able to fast track my application. I have plenty of time and if we get Josh Williams onto starting a collection that means the money side of it is sorted. I’m sure it will be a walk in the park collecting testimonials – I know at least 3 bloggers who will verify as to my life of purity - so all that’s left is performing a couple of miracles and it’s in the bag.

My first miracle will be feeding 40,000 people with two loaves of bread and a limp fish. Anyone who has tasted my cooking will vouch for the fact that there is certain to be two untouched loaves of Janey bread and the faint smell of unwashed woman lingering in the air when everyone has left my dinner table. How easy was that?

My second miracle requires the assistance of you, the blogger. All I need is for one of you creative creatures to contract a deadly disease for me to cure and we’re sorted. I’d prefer it if you could keep the blistering and pus to a minimum and it would also be nice if you could avoid hacking coughs in my presence – you wouldn’t barf boogers all over Mother Theresa, would you? The blogger that comes up trumps with the most lethal and disgusting disease will be rewarded with a signed photograph of my tits. If one of you would kindly put your name down for leprosy I’ll add a bonus pic of my snatch.

Oh yeah and I don’t have a me a hymn or anything for my sainthood just yet but we all know the words to Waltzing Mathilda, right?

Hobby killing

2006-03-27T23:27:00.000+01:00

I realized yesterday as I was colour-coding my Serial Killer Hit List wall chart that the USA produces more of these suckers than any other country. Up to 85% of the world's serial killers live there and at any given time there are about 30 active serial killers engaging in their chosen sport.

Everyone should be on their guard unless you live in Africa - serial killers tend to be white, heterosexual males in their twenties and thirties who are frequently sexually dysfunctional and have low self-esteem. If any of you know anyone that fits this description I suggest you call Crime Stopper now, especially if you don’t actually know them personally - serial killers usually murder strangers. You should definitely be paranoid if they are the same race as you and you are female - serial killers tend to prey on women and children of their same race.

This is not just an aimless observation targeting young white men though - female serial killers tend to be like spiders, killing a succession of husbands, lovers, and other family members. They can also be nurses or other medical professionals who murder babies, the elderly or the terminally ill in a misguided effort to relieve their suffering. I am not sure if this means we should be wary of all married women or nurses but please report them too – it’s best to be on the safe side.

Most serial killers grew up in violent households and are sadistic in nature. As children many enjoyed torturing animals, setting fires and were chronic bed-wetters. As adults, many serial killers are highly intelligent charmers with a taste for alcohol and/or drugs. This worries me – usually these are precisely the qualities I look for in men I date.

Now before you think its all bad with serial killers let me tell you that jailed Bundies have groupies in their droves. Women write to these people, fall in love with them and even marry them. So if you are female and struggling to get laid, I urge you to cast your net a bit wider and post that letter.

Don’t get serial killers confused with mass murderers. Mass murderers do not have the cunning stealth and premeditated intent of today’s blog topic heroes. They are probably just pissed with bad postal service. I like to think that serial killing is more of a hobby – and let’s face it…everyone needs a hobby – whereas their chumpish mass murdering cousins are usually one hit wonders, saving the last bullet for themselves.

Now that you are educated in this matter - you're welcome! - I am thinking you all feel a whole bunch safer. Don’t leave it at that though – I urge you to take this quiz right now and let me know how you scored. I got 10 out of 10, which is a great relief when you consider my line of work…

Exercise

2006-03-25T09:36:00.000Z

picture supplied by Die Murane

As you all know I am a top athlete. Well I appear to have been overdoing it somewhat recently – I’ve done so many sit-ups that my vagina has shifted upwards and is now nestled firmly between my tits. And before you all go “ooh aah - what a freak” let me assure you that my arsehole is now rested where my belly button used to be so I am still perfectly in proportion.

Yay! I don’t have to worry that men are staring at my breasts anymore – I am quite sure they are simply perving at my twat. Of course I now have to lean over the loo just to take a piss but at least my pubic grooming has become a heck of a lot easier.

I now cannot tell the difference between a menstrual cramp and heartache. As a further bonus, flicking my bean has become a whole bunch easier too – who would suspect that I am knocking the top off one when I simply appear to be scratching my chest? I don’t have to wear undies anymore either – I just pop on a padded bra and don’t give a second thought to incontinence.

Of course I have to be very careful not to perform a runny fart but at least I don’t have to worry about having a fat arse. I just suck in my belly and smile like a supermodel.

I have always been innovative. Feel free to worship me.

Fat Cunt Thursday

2006-03-23T06:41:00.001Z

Happy Fat Cunt Thursday from me and Sausage. We recommend that you spend the evening eating chips and scratching your nuts.

Once you have done that we recommend you swallow a box of laxatives so you can fit into your nice jeans on Skinny Arse Friday.

www.janesfuneral.com

2006-03-17T00:21:00.000Z

It is ironic that one’s funeral is the greatest celebration that one has of one’s life. I’ve always thought it a great shame that I will miss mine due to the fact that I will be dead. All those friends, loved ones and relatives gathered in one place to worship me and yet the star of the show will be lying in a cheap cask pickled in formaldehyde.

Well fuck that people. I am going to have my funeral while I am still alive and then I will simply bequeath my corpse to the local necrophiliac society when I die.

I am going to arrange the whole thing myself – I will select a nice church, large vulgar bunches of flowers, a big fuck-off hearse with “just died - not” sprayed on it in foam and even a nice little phallic shaped gravestone with the epitaph “Janey rocks. And gives great head”.

Instead of friends and relatives giving speeches from behind a dias I will be speaking at my own funeral, reminding everyone of the wonderful life I am living now and how utterly fucking fantastic I am.

I want to see exactly who turns up at my funeral (so that I can amend my will according to who is a no-show) and what they have to say about me at the cocktail party afterward. I intend asking some of my female and transvestite friends to dress up as angels – they can stand at the entrance of the church throwing confetti. During the ceremony they can tie some old boots and tin cans to the hearse so that I can have a decent yet amusing send-off.

In order that we are able to celebrate my non death in the way that I live my real life we will be having a large lesbian gang bang the night before the ceremony. And for those of you that are unable to make the trip to Australia but still wish to be included in my will I will be webcasting the ceremony for your enjoyment. A blogging first I think we all agree.

You are requested to send beer rather than flowers and I suggest that you buy lots of onions so that you can shed buckets of tears. Amen.

For Egan

2006-03-14T19:14:00.001Z

Monkeys are cute little creatures native to jungles and Seattle. Fed up with being mistaken for chimps, these adorable critters even have their own awareness society – the Committee Uniting Needy Tree Simians.

When they are not spontaneously masturbating at the dinner table, monkeys make fantastic pets! Their love of smearing shit on walls has saved many a discerning family from having to purchase artwork - for the price of a bunch of bananas and a pack of cigarettes who wouldn’t invest in one of these good natured and easy-to-tame primates? They are also extensively used in laboratory experiments and thank goodness for that – I am sure none of us want to die from using toxic lipstick.

Here are some facts that may surprise you about monkeys:

most monkeys prefer to use a Mac. Which is why they are monkeys I guess.
many monkeys have part-time jobs as George Bush impersonators
man did not evolve from monkeys – if this were true we wouldn’t still have monkeys
eagles may soar but monkeys don’t get sucked into jet engines
a Monkey Bath is a bath so hot that when lowering yourself in, you go: "Oo! Oo! Oo! Aa!Aa!Aa!".

All this teaching has left me drained yo. Lets wrap this sucker up with a nice bit of simian humour:

Question: What's got one leg, fur and bleeds?
Answer: Half a monkey

UPDATE: Monkeys LOVE swimming. They just don't like swimming ools because there is no P in them....

Barbie goes cave diving

2006-03-13T00:43:00.000Z

Photo source: unknown

violated

2006-03-11T08:56:00.000Z

logo by Toby

I was mugged today. I am still shaking so please excuse any rude language that I might use in this post.

What happened was that I went down to Bondi Beach earlier in the day as I normally do on a Saturday. Not to frolic in the sea or anything gay like that – just to score some weed from my dealer.

Anyhoooo after I had pulled a few cheeky cones behind the police station I got myself some fish and chips and went and hung out on the sand mentally taking notes of which chicks had fatter arses than I do. The score was about 70-30 (not in my favour) when I suddenly got a chilling feeling that I was being watched.

Now lethally trained martial artists like myself know that your best defence is to look about, assess the danger and then flee. Unfortunately today my number came up and I did not have the flight option – I was wholly cornered by a threatening, menacing, nasty pack of butt-ugly seagulls with one stealth mission in mind – my lunch.

The dirty fuckers had it all figured out. One created the diversion by landing on my head and while my arms were flailing about like a drowning tourist the bad boys moved in and stole my battered cod, my slice of lemon and my whole pack of chips one by one.

The chaos of arms and wings! The screeches of seagulls sounding like i just raped one of their babies! The feather flurry!

I pay tax. I demand answers:

Since when do seagulls eat potato?
Did they squeeze the lemon on the fish when they got back to headquarters?
Was it really necessary to rub it in by crapping on my bare leg too?

When I was a child I used to enjoy hours of endless entertainment by feeding seagulls Alka Seltzer (google it if you don’t know what it is you lazy fucks) and chortling as their stomachs exploded from the gas as they flew off.

My childhood hobby along with my brother's support may be my salvation. I am now going to post notices around the whole of Bondi detailing my nightmare and asking others who have been mugged of their lunch to contact me. I will form the Seagull Retribution Society. We will have a logo and all.

Lock up your daughters people. This is war.

swimming

2006-03-08T20:36:00.000Z

Top athletes like myself accept that serving our sport requires suffering and sacrifice. That’s what I remind myself when I apply my nose clamps, floral swimming cap and water wings each morning as I plunge into other people’s urine in my local public swimming pool.

I am happy to swallow a bit of urine – I am sure it’s good for my complexion. What I would like to avoid is the lane rage I suffer from when I am training. Lane rage occurs when swimmers (usually men) refuse to comply with the Public Swimming Pool Code of Ethics that requests that you swim in a lane matching your swimming ability. Lane rage is very similar to road rage except the vehicle is your body and it's rare that one carries a crowbar into the pool.

You will NEVER see a bloke in the slow lane! These are provided for those who gasp through their laps like wounded seals often employing a made-up swimming style of their own crossed with doggy paddle. They are usually either old people, ladies who keep their head out the water so they don’t get their hair wet, the injured remedial crowd and people who simply cannot swim well.

The medium lane is the catch-all and there are usually several lanes devoted to you Medium folk. The rules in this lane is simple: keep to the left and don’t overtake near the wall in case you bash the person on the return path. Easy.

The fast lane is made available for top athletes like myself who thunder up and down like jet-skis. It is impolite to use anything other than freestyle in these lanes and even more impolite to enter this lane if you are slower than me.

Lane rage could be prevented if swimming pools appointed a more military style lifeguard who could belittle people swimming in a lane outside of their abilities. They could also exert their authority on people entering the swimming pool with band-aids and plasters. The aerodynamics of these vile devices are simple: they don’t stay on in the water and your fellow swimmer is bound to swallow your scabs. I also believe that there is place for the militants to detain and punish those that snort snot into the pool – and once again I am sorry to say that its usually the brothers that do that.

Perhaps the solution is to have gender-specific pools? That way the girls can politely swim in the lane of their ability and men can fight each other in the fast lane of their pool while their band-aids float about spreading germs on boats made out of snot. Sorted.

JaneyFlags

2006-03-02T22:36:00.000Z

All this shit about burning flags over cartoons made me realise that there are not enough JaneyFlags about.

MAKE YOUR COUNTRY PROUD! MAKE A JANEYFLAG!

You will need:
1 x colour printer
1 x JaneyPic (right)
1 x craft scissors
1 x cocktail stick
1 x pot of glue to sniff
1 x pot of glue for flag

Directions:
Step 1: Save your JaneyPic by right-clicking it and saving onto your desktop. Mac users, I’m fucked if I know how you do this – perhaps go to an internet café and use a PC like the rest of the world?.

Step 2: Open the saved JaneyPic file, admire and worship my image for a few minutes and then print it out onto nice piece of white paper.

Step 3: Cut the printed image out carefully - mind you don't injure yourself with those craft scissors! Wrap the JaneyPic around the cocktail stick, glue it together and hold it firmly until dry. whilst are you standing about like a twat waiting the glue to dry sniff the other pot until you are high enough to be slightly crazy.

Step 4: Once completed you may either burn it, use it to decorate something or masturbate over it. If you chose to use it as a decoration please send me a picture and i will publish the best one. I would also like to see your masturbation pictures. thank you.

pavements

2006-02-27T20:18:00.000Z

shower shock

2006-02-23T10:04:00.000Z

I am like not a lesbian, right. Just because I like fucking chicks TOTALLY does not make me a lesbian. So now that that’s all cleared up can someone please explain to me why is it that I simply cannot stop staring at other womens' vaginas when I am in the showers at the gym?

And for those of you out there thinking my gym sounds hot let me tell you its very rarely a beautiful thing – most chicks happy to wander about naked in my gyn showers also happen to have ghaspingly ugly lady-parts that closely resemble roadkill. At that's not even referring to the elderly patrons with snatches that look like they have been pickled. Maybe it's just me and fnqueen but I do find that overgrowth makes for a fucking ugly twat and a very quick shower.

I don’t know what the deal is with hairy girly-gardens and my gym but I do know that am yet to see anyone with a brazillian in the showers. No pubic topiary or piercings either from what I can tell, although its really very hard to make out what’s what with all that fluffy astro turf on display – I keep wondering if I just walked into the Hair Olympics. I have now concluded that other chicks with bald beavers and piercings simply don’t shower much.

The exception to the 'too much hair' rule is the poor lady in my boxing class who appears to have a low hanging ham nestled between her poor overburdened labia – she definitely needs more hair. If there is such a thing as a clitoral nip and tuck I urge this chick to take the fucking bank loan and just do it. she should. I am not entirely sure whether it is a good thing or a bad thing to have such an unfeasibly large clitoris – I might take this up the most amusing Jesus Toast who kindly spent the past 2 days on Jane TV pretending to be my vagina. Toast is wise in matters of loosely packed kebabs it seems.

Anyhow. You can observe a lot just by watching. Is all I'm sayin'.

multiculturalism

2006-02-22T23:07:00.000Z

"You smell like a pig’s arse"

Swiss: du stenksch wienen souarsch
Martian: &&amp;amp;amp;amp;&^^^##~~~~~```'''':
Scooter: beep beep
Pirate: Ye reek like the bottom end of a Boar.....Matey
Scouse: You smell like a pig's arse now gimme yer fuckin money you cunt
Zen Latin: Odiosus mihis
Brazilian Portuguese: Voce fede como um cu de porco
French: votre odeur est comme le cul de un porc
German: Du riechst wie ein Schwein
Italian: ~~Il vostro odore é come maiale~~ Tu putsa come uno culo de porco (thanks PDD)
Spanish: hueles como el culo de un cerdo
Zulu: bepo lo inja
Afrikaans: jy reik lyk 'n vark se aars
Denny Speak: ouay mellsay ikelay aay ig'spay rseaay

Bored at work - answers

2006-02-22T12:34:00.002Z

Down
2. The difference between a choir boy and a queer boy
3. A foodstuff high in protein
5. Occurs when you use Herbal Essence shampoo
7. Frequent public areas in search for having sexual intercourse with the same gender
8. An activity frequently conducted in the shower
9. An animal with a cunt half way up it’s back (2 words)
10. Computer V.D.
12. A long word for a short word
14. ( + )( + )
16. A Blogger who doubles as a human coathanger
17. The rounded part of a man’s knob

BACK TO HOME

Sickies

2006-02-18T22:01:00.000Z

Is faking a cheeky sick day off from work an art or a science? I’m fucked if I know! What I do know is that everyone needs some watertight excuses and strategies up their sleeve. So. Bearing in mind that Tuesday is fast approaching (NEVER take a sick day on Mondays or Fridays) and I am all out of relatives I can claim died let’s give teamwork a go: I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.

SICKIE STRATEGIES

Before you call in, practise your story (and your sick voice if appropriate) in front of the mirror. Make it quick - blabbering indicates nervousness.
Do not overplay your symptoms when making the actual call – adopt the same tone you would when being hounded for a report that is overdue and which you haven’t completed by firstly being vague and secondly using long words. In this case a small groan is also a nice touch.
Report in sick real early – best aim to get your boss’s voicemail. If this fails, you will have to actually speak to them. You should not call the office secretary or ask a colleague to pass the message. And you certainly should not call in sick via email or text message (an increasingly common mistake)
Never let your colleagues know that you are taking the following day off - the Sickie must fool everyone to work properly. You need to callously use your buddies to validate your condition and therefore you need to lie to them too.
Keep informed on what recent excuses have been used by others – you don’t want two Aunty Mildreds dying in the same office, do you? On the flip side, always take advantage of a virus doing the rounds - there is no point letting that nice Bird Flu go to waste, yeah?
It is ALWAYS better to take 2 days than one. Always. And the good thing with the second day is that it is okay to break rule 2.
If you fake a doctor’s note on your home computer/printer do try to remember to use a real proper doctor. And check first by ringing – don’t make the oooopsie I did a few years back and fake my sick note on a vet’s letterhead

SICKIE EXCUSES

Blood:
Don’t hesitate to use this excuse. Blood in your stool, your semen, your urine, unexpected spotting (females only), coughing blood - it’s all good.

Seizures:
Ideal excuses – I am very surprised more people don’t fall back on the Seizure. Seizures are always serious (indeed you can fake one in the workplace if a meeting drags on too long) and happily there is frequently no medical explanation for them.

Pets:
Stay away from this one – it makes you look weak and damages your chances for promotion. Don't call up saying your pet is sick, vomiting, dying/died etc. The exception to this saying you have actually killed the animal yourself and throw a small child is in the equation: for example driving over your 3 year old’s poodle. Of course that means you will genuinely have to get rid of the poodle at some stage to authenticate the lie, but I am sure we all agree there are too many poodles in the world anyhow

Death:
Yeah well use this at your discretion. Maybe it’s just me, but it gets a bit spooky when you have to “kill off” your own mother just to take a couple days off. The good thing with death though is that you get 2 days – one for the death and one for the funeral. Some companies even give you compassionate leave that doesn’t affect the rest of your holiday leave days or your sick days.

Shit:
Look shit does work – there is no doubt about it – but it is a bit lame. Diarrhoea, food poisoning, hangovers etc really doesn’t demonstrate much creativity. If you are female, you are mad to go for runny bum when Cystitis is available. If you are male, opt for Crohn’s disease.

Please send me your excuses to add to my database. I am also interested, for academic purposes, in what excuses totally don't work. This is all strictly for scientific research though and not to help me take more time off. Honest.

snot

2006-02-16T01:28:00.000Z

I do love picking my nose!

I am not a daily picker - unfortunately I am not really much of a mucus-forming person. I would say that I muster up a bloody good pick at least once a week on average although in summer that increases to as much as one every second day on a good week.

I have never consumed my nasal phlegm but I would certainly be interested in doing so some day. I often wonder if - like the taste of semen - the taste alters depending on what you have eaten. If so, I will NEVER consume asparagus and then eat my snot!

Like all pranksters I have of course deliberately performed a pick and then waved the contents at horrified onlookers just for kicks. I then usually chuckle and re-assure them that I am just changing my mind manually. I am not entirely sure why everyone is so grossed out by snot – its not as if I am wiping my arse with my hand and then licking it.

On average I estimate that I spend between 1-3 minutes per pick. So 5 minutes a week is really not a lot to spare for something that gives me so much joy. And because I use my finger rather than those freaks who use pens and such I can happily report that I have never had a nosebleed. I certainly am not one of those silly sods that have perforated their nasal septums.

Now although my nose picking is largely for sport and recreational purposes I do sometimes unburden myself simply to unclog my nasal passages or relieve discomfort and itchiness. on these occasions I tend to opt for blowing into a tissue though. Go figure!

Call me weird but I always tend to use the index finger of my right hand – I simply cannot get enjoyment from any other finger except in emergencies when I use my pinky finger. I find that my bounty is altogether less fruitful using my left hand too. I think it’s a bit like masturbating – I never use my left hand for that either.

So I guess you all want to know how I dispose of my rich pickings, right? Well this is where it just gets plain fucking bizarre. Snot disposal forms a large part of my ritual pleasure. I have been known to go to the loo at work, perform a pick and then return to my workplace and smear the results onto someone else’s property. Their chair for example. Or their computer. Or a notebook. I like to watch their reactions or even lack of reactions – sometimes it pleases me more when they don’t notice.

Anyhow. Have a great day.

You can pick your friends and you can pick your nose

but you can't wipe your friends under the sofa.

Speed Eating: Hotdogs

2006-02-13T20:20:00.000Z

Wait up bloggers. Eating your food quickly used to be what you did on your way back to the office after lunchtime in the pub. Today it’s a bone fide sport for lazy cunce! I am not sure whether they have groupies and all, but if they do I bet the Corned Beef Eaters would be the ones getting blowjob action all over the place.

Corned Beef aside, it seems that Hotdog Speed Eating is so fucking hot at the moment. And these ‘athletes’ don’t fuck about, gang - the world champion can swallow 53 of the motherfuckers in a mere 12 minutes.

Well it’s Challenge Time in The Jungle! Let’s see what you can all do! Hopefully you will scrub up better than me – I barfed in my lap after eating a mere 6. let me know if you wish me to post the video – it was fairly chunky and pink though I must warn you.

You will need:
54 hotdogs -- 54 bread rolls -- Trusted Assistant -- Large tub of water -- Spoonful of oil -- Stopwatch - Bucket for vomit -- a proper audience or a tape of crowds cheering

Your preparation:
Eat heaps of bran the day before your attempt. This ensures that you will do a massive dump on the day, thereby freeing up valuable stomach space.

Step by Step guide:

Swallow the oil to lubricate your gut. Try not to gag or heave.
Get your Trusted Assistant to start timing you – a loud bell ringing can enhance the drama of the moment, otherwise a joke ring such as a fart is amusing for non-competitive practise.
Grab a hotdog, pull the weiner out the bun and break the weiner in half. Start guzzling the weiner taking a small bite size chunk on each side of the mouth. This double sided chewing action is your passport to victory
Swallow people, swallow. Don’t fuck about chewing too much – it wastes time
Pick up a bun and wet it in the bowl of water
Roll it up into little balls and swallow it like popcorn. Don’t chew - remember the mantra: “He who chewed was screwed”
Repeat the above another 53 times in under 12 minutes

You can now prepare to receive your new world record. Then lie back to receive your blowjobs while your trusted assistants fights off the groupies.

Hazards:
Indigestion -- obesity -- noxious farting during groupie blowjobs -- syphilis

Dirty diseases # 1 - Syphilis

2006-02-11T05:26:00.000Z

What is it?
A sexually transmitted disease carried by the virus we all love to hate - Treponema pallidum.

How do you catch it?
Butt fucking, beaver fucking, swallowing jizm and probably fisting, although I am not entirely sure about the last one. Contamination occurs after contact with the other people’s syphilitic sores. Although these are usually located on genitals they can also be found on the mouth. So if you think you could just settle for a blowjob instead, think again. You cannot catch syphilis from toilet seats...but then who in their right mind would want to give a toilet seat a blowjob anyhow? Swimming pools are also safe, but hands up anyone who would happily swim in the same pool as someone with suppurating syphilitic wounds?

Have I got it?
This is where it gets ugly, people. Once infected you will break out in a painless wound or several sores in the area you became infected in. Unless you get it treated, you will move into phase two of the virus and will develop a really ugly red rash on the bottoms of your feet and hands. By now you should definitely know something is wrong as this repulsive rash phase is accompanied by patchy hair loss, headaches, swollen glands, weight loss (fat folk DO NOT go get this disease – you are better off at Weight Watchers)

If you are still unaware that something is fucking wrong then you are a total cock. But assuming you have kept putting off that visit to the STD clinic the final stage is paralysis, heart problems, blindness and dementia. Which can only mean that there are a ton of old people with syphilis seeing as many of them exhibit these identical symptoms.

Survival rate:
Not bad if you catch it in time. You might want to alert sexual partners to it before they go down on you though.

Syphilis and the Arts

In 1530, Girolamo Fracastoro, a physician and poet, wrote a poem from which syphilis derived its name.
There are references to syphilis in William Shakespeare's play Measure for Measure

budgie smuggling

2006-02-08T13:00:00.000Z

There is something plain fucking wrong about men wearing bicycle shorts as leisure wear*. I even question whether their ewwww factor invalidates their practical value when it comes to sporting activity. The disease is spreading too – only last weekend I noted with dismay on my brisk walk around Balmain Bay that even rowers have now taken to wearing all-in-one lycra jumpsuits. My eyes! My eyes! Mummy make it go away!

If i am going to continue to enjoy my morning walk I am going to have to brush up on bicycle-pant-etiquette – the art of walking past a man dressed in spandex without guffawing at his groin.

Mind you, the world would surely be a better place if I tried to stamp out lycra entirely? Hmmm...perhaps I could walk about the bay in a pair of cycle pants covering a couple of lumpy potatoes and a large curved carrot nestled against my vulva. If it makes just one Lycra Lover question their decision to look like the raw ingredients of a nice winter soup then it's worth it.

The other way I could heal my pain though is to engage the help of you, the blogger, in my time of need:-

Female bloggers: please provide me with three names of male bloggers you wish to see in cycle shorts for whatever perverse reason tickles your tonsils.

Male bloggers: if you are tagged please immediately send me a photo of yourselves in a pair of bad-arse lycra cycle shorts so that I can chortle loudly until my phobia wears off. And no erections, please – The Jungle is a family oriented blog.

*Please note: this post DID NOT apply to Axl Rose who I love and wish to root

the origins of the moustache

2006-01-31T11:41:00.000Z

hedgehogs

2006-01-29T20:43:00.000Z

hedgehog 1 doggy 0

Hedgehogs live for up to six years. They are 20 - 30 cm long and weigh on average the same as a very large block of hashish - around 700g. They feast on slugs, snails, caterpillars, beetles, earthworms, birds' eggs, frogs and snakes. They have up to 500 quills on their backs with their face, tail, belly and legs covered in soft fur
A 'gutted hedgehog' is an amusing name for a vagina
Hedgehogs are lazy cunts. They sleep all day and and then hibernate all winter
There are no indigenous species of hedgehog in North America or Australia. There are also no indigenous white people in either country, but most hedgehogs are too polite to point that out on their blogs.
Hedgehog Humour exists amongst the hedgehog enthusiasts community. An example hedgehog quip: “unlike a Ferrari, hedgehogs have their pricks on the outside”. It is unclear as to whether porcupine enthusiasts use the same joke.
Hedgehogs are considered sacred in China. Cats are not so fortunate.
One of Europe’s top selling potato chips claimed to be “hedgehog flavour”. Angry hedgehog lovers eventually forced Hedgehog Foods Ltd to reveal that in fact they were flavoured with pig fat. It is interesting to note that pig supporters did not squeal at this. This anomaly can also be observed in the fishing industry whereby dolphin supporters elicit large amounts of sympathy at the suggestion that dolphin is found in tinned tuna, yet tuna fish supporters remain notably silent.
Hedgehogs are becoming increasingly common chocolate snacks at easter time. It is confusing as to what role they play in the crucifixion of christ as they are not specifically mentioned in the bible.
In South Africa it is considered hilarious to half pull two matches out of a matchbox to mimic an aerial and then to whisper urgently into the matchbox “calling all hedgehogs, calling all hedgehogs”. The origin of this nonsensical lark is unknown, however the author has done this more than 50 times and verifies that it is amusing.
Although anyone that has been impaled by hedgehog quills will swear that the animal is the windshield, when it comes to tarmac the hedgehog is in fact the bug. Traffic accidents account for 80% of injuries in rescue centres in the UK. If you do hit a hedgehog, follow this link for an awesome roadkill recipes
It ~~is unlikely~~ has been conclusively proven that Josh Williams would be able to find a Tom Waits song that mentions these prickly little critters
mr dna is *very knowledgeable * (don't ask) about porn star Ron Jeremy. He informs me that Ron is also known as "The Hedgehog"

Tits

2006-01-25T09:34:00.000Z

shit

2006-01-18T12:01:00.000Z

Listen up y’all. Toilets are not just for furtive sexual relations and taking drugs - they are also good for female social bonding, disposal of unwanted dead parrots and taking calls on your cellphone. If the God Squad had their thinking caps on they would abandon worshipping religious shapes on toast and consider the symbolism of bog roll taint - shit is sooo special.

Bizarrely it seems that most of my homies are vastly uncomfortable with having to take a crap at work! Not so me - with the exception of weekends when I drop by my local church to do a holy shit, generally I only produce faecal matter in the workplace. I don’t mind using their cheap scratchy loo roll that doubles up as sandwich wrap – the fact that its free makes it worth putting up with anal bleeding. I also love that I am getting paid to do a dump – at my current consultancy rates I am earning eight aussie dollars for every load I drop! Some nights I eat curry so as I am justified in charging overtime the next day!

I love that I start my working day with a cheery g’day greeting to the toilet bowl – scat makes the flowers grow and that's real beautiful.

Crap plays a HUGE part of my personal entertainment during working hours. I like to wait until I see someone I hate go off to the loo and then tiptoe in quietly after them so that they mistakenly think that they are alone. I only make my presence known after about a minute and I usually do so by knocking sharply on their cubicle and cheerily asking them to pass over some loo paper.

If I am feeling mean or the vendetta I wish to fulfil is particularly nasty I enter the bathroom loudly about a minute after they have gone in, knowing my presence will cause them to break into dead dead silence and muscular immobility. I love to yell out their name in a greeting - “Hello Doloris” I squawk, knowing that the Accounts poon will be clenching her butt so hard she will be making involuntary noises. I then proceed to fuck about for ages, whistling softly. I brush my hair, i adjust my labia in my pants, i wash my hands and then i apply some make-up at length. Poor Doloris.

Anyhow. Enough about my stuff. How was your day?

post-christmas sales

2006-01-16T11:06:00.000Z

Not only am I utterly broke due to the stupid price of cocaine but I also need drug money for a very hip party on Thursday night to celebrate 50 years of trans-sexual surgery in Australia.

I therefore need to sell some of my personal property and as such I hereby offer to the highest bidder my grandmother and a black & white cat.

The two items can be purchased together or separately and both come with cute-yet-functional accessories – you don’t need to spend a single additional cent on them other than food and vet bills moving forward. Granny needs less flea powder than the cat but the cat doesn’t smell like mould so they both have their pros and cons. Should you buy them both as a package deal I will, of course, provide a 10% discount.

My Granny is 94 and somewhat incontinent but she is very useful for holding balls of wool while you knit. If you don’t knit you might be able to use her as a door stop or a scarecrow. The cat is quite old but his left eye is still good. He either has kidney failure or bowel failure – whatever it is it’s runny and reddy brown-ish – but he still rocks when it comes to washing his bum and making the dog next door hysterical.

I am happy to post pictures of both beasts.

The sale will start right now and will last for 48 hours. Please post your best offer here and indicate how you intend paying. I accept cocaine, direct money transfer or guns that I can sell to gangsters for cash. Monthly instalments can be negotiated. I will ship each item wrapped in bubble wrap but please note that I do not accept liability during transit.

Thank you for your interest. Together we will make the world a better place.

heartache

2006-01-13T02:31:00.000Z

It seems that love-turned-bad is quite hip at the moment.

Now although some women find solace in listening to Celine Dion whining, traditionally the cure for mending a broken heart has been lots of time to heal, a very short haircut and a drunken one night stand that is so goddam awful you spend the rest of your life avoiding the pub you pulled him in.

I object to this remedy – I think mending hearts should be covered by MediCare taxes. Fuck sakes - if we have to pay for old Harold-down-the-road’s bumhole transplant out of our medical levies then surely shattered hearts should qualify for a rebate?

I Have a Dream! I am going to a invent a pill that fixes broken hearts and then pimp it out to all my friends. It would work a bit like an indigestion tablet or even possibly a tapeworm tonic. I haven’t done any scientific research yet but I am sure I can find a recipe on the internet somewhere. I figure that if medical science can fix this surely heartache repair should be a walk in the park?

I am not sure yet what side effects to bundle in with my new tablet. Although I am leaning towards palpitations or appetite suppression I might just stick with everyone’s favourite: hallucinations. I would welcome suggestions and feedback on this.

My vision is that washing that guy right out of your hair would be as simple as dissolving two tablets in a cup of water and taken on a food-lined stomach. Or you can just shelve them up your arse like you do with your Ecstasy.

So if anyone has an ounce of charity or goodwill left in them after the festive season please send your heart for research for advancement of medical science. I will return it in an airtight cooler box once I am done trampling all over it.

mankind vs manunkind

2006-01-11T09:50:00.000Z

Statistics can be so incredibly insightful when it comes to the complexities of human nature!

Today I carefully smeared shit on the arse of my white trousers and then wandered about the office taking detailed notes on how many people would be decent enough to alert me that I had mucked myself. Now I’ve tallied up the responses in an Excel spreadsheet (my assistant knocked it up after he returned from picking up a box of tampons for me from the chemist) and I am sure you will agree the results are so terribly useful.

Number of people who whispered “Janey I think you might have over-delivered on your last fart": 16
Number of people who opted for diplomacy: “Babe, I think you may have sat on something dirty”: 8
Number of people who looked embarrassed, averted their eyes and said nothing: 5

I am not sure whether to be upset or not that so many in my office associate me with a leaky bowel, however I can confirm that I was perplexed at how different the data was to yesterday’s social experiment: rubbing a dead fish all over my shirt and leaning over people trapped behind their desks:

Number of people who wrung their nose, dry-heaved and then tried to get away: 22
Number of people who said “fuck dude you stink” : 3
Number of people who thought of vaginas and tried to chat me up: 6

I am happy to take requests if anyone has a pressing social issue that they would like me to collect statistics on? Please remember however that I have a prestigious and well paid job that cannot be jeopardised. That means I can’t go nude or fuck things. So let’s keep it clean, eh? And yes, I would be happy to photograph and publish my fact finding mission for the good of the whole community. Amen.

a star is born

2006-01-09T03:41:00.000Z

Yesterday I went into the recording studio to cut my very first album!

Anybody who has actually heard me sing will be floored by this news...many have remarked that my singing voice sounds uncannily like the squeals of a baby seal being clubbed up its arse with a pitchfork.

Relax gang. My new album - which is entitled Faster Baby - is the glorious soundtrack of me faking loud multiple orgasms (clitoral...not vaginal...for the benefit of the details Nazis).

Overcoming the eerie feeling that I was being watched in disgust by my dead grandmother, I recorded Faster Baby in order to fool the neighbours into thinking that I am getting laid regularly. I had to take cunning action - my ongoing sexual drought has now become so painfully obvious it’s got to the stage where I can’t look the Power Lesbians next door in the eye anymore. I really had to do something to dispel the perception in my street that I prefer a good shit to a root.

Like every classic album, Faster Baby has an epic anthem. I will be playing this loudly approximately every fortnight to pretend i am hosting a nice drug-fuelled, whip cracking, gang banging fuck fest. Unfortunately right now this track is as yet unfinished as I still need to recruit 4 backing vocalists.

To demonstrate my sexual versatility and to cater for the masses I have thrown in a catchy pop tune – I love how the sound of me slapping my own arse makes me click my fingers and tap my toes in time to the funky beat.

And finally, who can go past a nice slow ballad - perfect for a rainy Sunday morning. This symphony piece nicely demonstrates my orgasm vocal range and the series of vaginal farts harmonising with my crescendo of frenzied yelping are nothing short of beautiful.

I am so delighted with my efforts that I may place the audio on my blog so that it starts blaring from your shitty, tinny computer speakers as you enter the site. And before you all boo and hiss at me like spoilt brats please stop and consider the effort I have put into this – it takes 116 facial muscles to fake a climax but only 17 for you to smile…

C.W.W

2006-01-05T22:29:00.000Z

Because I am very busy and important and hold a position of high ranking in the jungle I feel that it is time that I got my own family crest.

It is with much pride and not a small degree of emotion that I present to the world for the very first time my new coat of arms, Cunt With Wings. See how she soars. Note how the diamond in her piercing sparkles. Observe how she sits slightly skew because I don’t know how the rotate button works in Photoshop.

Now although I have recently taken to calling my vagina Narnia, my logo will not succumb to cheap commercialism, oh no. She will simply be referred to as CWW. She will adorn my stationery, my made-to-order toilet paper, my company invoices and a small silver necklace I intend having crafted to match.

In honour of the unveiling of my new heraldry and in line with christening methods employed in the shipping industry I urge you all to purchase a bottle of champagne and break it against your computer monitors. Thank you.

fucking made simple

2006-01-03T09:42:00.000Z

Here in the jungle mating really isn’t complex, even if you are as ugly as a boar licking shit off a thistle:

1. locate a beast of a similar species to yourself
2. lift up its tail
3. commence humping

Post coital gratification is a jolly nice sleep and no dull mushy chit chat. Unless of course you are a spider - then as a bonus you get to eat the creature you just fucked. Jungle folklore has it that Jeffrey Dahmer was raised by spiders.

In the human world scoring an Aussie kiss (same as a French kiss, but downunder) has been complicated to the extent that it is remarkable that anyone (and I don’t count my parents in this because I am certain that they DO NOT have sex) gets their legover. Is he or she gay/straight? Am I too fat/thin? Too black/white? Too old/young? Too ugly? Too brunette? Are my tits too big (male) or small (female)? Am I too bald (male and female)? How about my pubes? Shaved or bushy or trimmed or bald? What about my tattoo on my neck that says “Cut Here” ? And my pierced bumhole – will that be a turnoff?

Enough already – step aside and let me fix this mess. Girls forget buying Fuck Me boots. Straight guys you can stop borrowing your mate’s baby and walking around the park making eye contact with single mums.

The solution to sexual paranoia is really very simple and from today onwards I propose we all go back to basics: Everyone who wants sex please move to Australia. If you wish to keep your legs closed, please make your way over to the USA. Gay people, you can sort out your own country - I have my hands full with the straight crowd.

Well I’m glad that’s all sorted out then. If anyone has any other pressing world issues that they would like quickly resolved, drop me a line.

new year, new me

2005-12-30T22:15:00.000Z

This morning whilst dancing around the stockpile of pills I will be shoving up my jiggly arse tonight I couldn’t help think about the year that was 2005 and my conduct as a child of christ. New Year is always a good time to take a giant emotional shit and resolve to make a few changes. And I fucking mean it – this isn’t just teary, sentimental pap because it’s the last day of the year.

I will not say “cunt” at all anymore but I will say “cock” a whole bunch. This is in case I have to eat my words.
I will stop wearing my Gary Glitter t-shirt when I pick up my niece from playschool
I will not leave tampons dipped in tomato sauce in restaurant ashtrays.
I will stop mis-labelling tranny-sex mpegs as humour and uploading them to file sharing servers.
I will drive past the gym at least once a week.
I will finish reading “Auto Erotic Asphyxiation for Dummies” and collect some homeless people to practise on.
I will abandon my fantasy of becoming a sex slave.
I will stop holding Tubgirl re-enactment parties.

Happy New Year muthafuckas.

Mike Hunt

2005-12-23T08:32:00.000Z

Dear Lucifer,

You know how I swapped you my soul for that big bag of weed? Well that’s all done and gone now and I am now wondering if you would have any use for a heart? I don’t think I want mine - actually I would be happy to be shot of the damn thing if the truth be known. I do realise that there is a limited market for second hand hearts but I figured you might be able to use it as a doorstop or something. I know it will blend right in with the rest of your décor – black is so timeless.

I was thinking that maybe we could just do a straight swap – you get the heart and I get to chose a replacement body part that would be a bit more useful to me. I've done the math and decided that a spare vagina would probably come in real handy - we could simply drop it into the cavity that my stupid heart left behind. I’ve checked in the mirror and if I warm up my tongue it can just about reach. And I promise to look after this one real good – no chunky piercings on the new gutted hedgehog.

I know I’ve caught you at your busiest time of the year but have a word with your people and get back to me, yeah?

sincerely,
JJ

The Milky Way

2005-12-21T05:58:00.000Z

I have no time for cows or the contents of their tits. According to my Know Your Farm Animals dictionary, milk is “a short term maternal lactating secretion for newborns”. I think that is supposed to read “newborns of their own species” but the dictionary writer dude was too busy dry-retching at the thought of anyone drinking bovine mammary fluid to write it up properly.

Here in the jungle we have long been of the view that we would sooner eat our own snot than put our lips anywhere near Eau de Teat. We can only but imagine that milk drinkers have never stopped to consider the poor bacteria trying to do an honest day’s work in their lactose-lined colons.

So great is my disgust at the filth that is milk that I have spent most of today researching udders in an effort to know my enemy. I now know a whole bunch about the median suspensory ligament located in the center of the udder but I am still entirely unclear as to why the western world woke up one day and decreed it okay to drink a substance that was designed to rear baby cows from 0 to 2 tons in a short space of time. Why not cats milk? Or dogs milk? And how is it that I have some friends who take milk in their tea but think that giving headjobs is ewwwww?

I am fairly certain that somewhere out there is the solution to the Great Milk Mystery. I will not rest until I have answers.

Jesus Turkey

2005-12-19T23:57:00.000Z

In my ongoing work-in-progress of exploring my feminininininity I have decided that sharing recipes is girly. Now here in the jungle we celebrate the baby Jeezoo’s birth just like regular folk, so figuring that I may as well kill two birds with one stone I hereby offer the world my recipe for Christmas Turkey.

JJ’s Jesus Turkey
Serves: several human beings, 3 hyenas and a cat
Preparation time: half an hour in the tree, 10 minutes skinning and stuffing. Cooking time variable.

Ingredients
1 large koala
1 plump turkey
Sprig of parsley to garnish

Method
Sit your fanny firmly on a branch of a large leafy tree ensuring that the koala is within arm’s reach. Wait until the largest, plumpest of the jungle turkeys is gobbling directly under your branch and drop the koala decisively onto the part of its head that looks like a giant clitoris. Both animals will die but the koala at least will be dreaming of eucalyptus leaves, so it’s all good. Skin the koala and feed the remains to the hyenas. Then pluck the turkey feathers and set them aside to stuff inside the koala skin later – a novelty pillow is just what your mum needs for Christmas. Sever the turkeys head and lay it out in the sun so as you can turn it into a bong when it’s dried to bone.

Next you need to rip the turkey guts out, mash it into offal and shove it back up the turkey’s arse – everyone loves stuffing. Stoke up the jungle fire, chuck the turkey into the middle of it and then pour yourself a few nice pots of jungle juice. You deserve it.

I’m not exactly sure how long it takes to cook but eventually you’ll be so pissed it won’t really matter if it’s raw or not.

If gay people are coming over garnish with a sprig of parsley.

tampons

2005-12-17T12:27:00.000Z

I dunno if being a potty-mouthed, hard-living, drug-scoffing, cheap-piss-drinking mijito counts against me but I’ve been noticing recently that blokes seem to be really awfully scared of me. In short, I think I should put a bit more elbow grease into honing my femininity instead of dissing my yang by perving on midget porn and flicking my bean. If that fails I guess I could just grab the nearest bloke and club him in the kneecaps to keep him from fleeing.

After a snap poll amongst The Girls it appears that my hobbies might be a starting point – fucking about with motorbikes and having a season ticket to the cricket doesn’t seem to make it on any other girl lists of Fun Things To Do This Weekend. I clearly need to get a hobby with XX chromosomes – and one that doesn’t involve me, my lady-parts and a big sack of batteries.

So after a bit of research and a lot of thought I have decided to go with the flow and write me one of them Coffee Table books. More specifically, mine is going to be about tampons - I figured that you don’t get much more girly than a grouse dose of toxic shock syndrome. In deference to my authentic self I won’t sell out completely though – Jam Rag (it’s still a working title but am I right or am I right in thinking that's one classy title) will of course have a nasty sealed section for educational purposes and also for dirty blood fuckers - Period Porn is a booming big business.

I have already decided on a Tampon Art section, an introduction to Tampon Haberdashery and possibly even a small section on Beaver Hammocks - or sanitary napkins as my dead Nana used to call them.

Now I know I have a long way to go before my work makes it into the Museum of Menstruation (I love how they call themselves MUM for short. That’s real neat.) I know that recognition from Tampaction's Menstrual Activism section is a bit ambitious right now while i am still in the conceptual stages, but I also can’t help thinking of the words of a wize old zulu: a journey of a 1000 miles begins with a single step. which in my case would be getting off my arse and out this bloody hole….

cat shit

2005-12-14T05:55:00.000Z

Watching the cat wash his arse today, I couldn’t help but wonder about the taste of shit. Presumably cats have only two facial options available to them – closed mouth and open mouth – and are therefore unable to grimace. Possibly the taste of their bums doesn’t offend them. Or maybe the answer can be found in Mother Nature’s website FAQs, along with the explanation of why one’s own noxious emissions are so much more bearable than that of others.

You never see cats going off for a drink of water to get the taste out of their mouth after they are done washing and they do seem to spend a disproportionate amount of washing time licking their lookalike Cigarette-Smoker’s-Mouths compared to the rest of their bodies. I figured therefore that their kitty Goo Goos really doesn’t taste all that rank to them.

What remains a mystery however is why they narrow their eyes and glare in haughty disdain when their dinner is not quite to their taste. Even more curious is if all cats are fussy about their food yet all cats don’t mind washing their arses, why cat food manufacturers haven’t brought out cat food out in Feces Flavour?

wanking

2005-12-11T05:27:00.000Z

Today whilst carrying out routine monthly maintenance on my sex toys I realized with a jolt that I have invested more money on wanking this year than I have outlaid in my entire life on hairdressers. I have a clit clip to keep the cat-food bag sealed closed yet I have never paid to have my nails done. My annual pubic topiary bill (latest design - a green map of Australia to celebrate our entry into next year’s World Cup) amounts to more than I have spent on make-up since I was 15. I have never bought myself a bottle of perfume yet where most people use crocheted poodles, I have the Fiesty Arouser 9 incher on top of the loo to hold my toilet rolls in place.

Masturbation – a supposedly free and harmless activity that is encouraged by everyone in authority except for the Pope – is a jolly costly burden to anyone’s net take-home salary. So why is it that you never see it in accounting software pre-formatted budget spreadsheets? When last did your financial advisor gently suggest that you be sure to jerk off within your means?

If you add up the cost dodgy of website subscriptions, DVDs, toys (practical - used regularly), toys (funny and/or bizarre albeit completely impractical– nothing more than amusing ornaments), masturbatory accessories such as lube/poppers/beanies and everything else you smear, sniff or swallow or sprinkle plus of course phone sex bills for the blokes and you end up – if you are conservative in your estimations – at an annual expense of around $4,000. Now I am far more creative than mathematical but with a battering average of a nice daily wank that’s around 12 bucks for your bang. More expensive than cigarettes.

At that price, I had better not be faking it…

who put the crack in the crackers??

2005-12-06T09:54:00.000Z

The reason that more people suicide on Christmas is because its fucking depressing.

I was shopping around for my Christmas puppy today – you know, the one I intend taking back to the RSPCA on Boxing Day once I am done bored with it - muttering to myself about “fucking Christmas” when it hit me with a jolt. “That’s it!” I thought. Bollocks to hymns for the baby jebus, a Fucking Christmas is exactly what we all need - a day that even straight men look forward to.

So instead of getting my usual childish festive kick from soldering razor wire into the inside of my chimney on 24 December, this year I am going to hold a 3 day orgy with for a truly rocking Fucking XXXmas. On the offchance that I can’t rustle up 3 friends prepared to join me I will simply hire 3 nubile Ho Ho Hos.

XXXmas is coming? It will be in my house…

is that blood on my hands?

2005-10-10T07:40:00.000+01:00

Today - technically speaking - i knocked someone over. A hit and run, like - I hit him and he ran. Actually what happened is that a mad person launched himself at my moving car, smacked into it and then ran away very very fast indeed. Despite being a crap driver, i was driving on the road and not the pavement so am fairly sure it wasn't my fault.

It happened as I was on my way back from a Very Important Meeting this morning and i realised i needed to make a phone call. I would love to say i was being a responsible citizen and i pulled over so as not to talk on the phone while driving, but actually its just as i said earlier - i am a shit driver and if i attempt both tasks concurrently i am successful in neither. So i pulled over and hungrily started arranging that nice cup of coffee and a bite of lunch with a mate.

Imagine my surprise when a wild eyed nutter (judging from his clothing he lives in a drain) marched up and kicked my car while yelling at me about my ancestory. i ignored him and carried on trying to establish (without looking at the map) where the corner of Crown and Liverpool was, at which point he started headbutting the car. I quickly explained to my mate that i was being attacked and had to drive off. Note to mate: next time we are on the phone and i tell you that i am being murdered please don't ring me back. you would be mortified if i died because i was too polite to let your call go through to voicemail.

Anyhoooo - the point being that i sped off, hurled the cage around the corner and went smack into a dead end road. i dramatically turned the car around (only took 5 goes, too) and raced back around the corner, only to be faced with the mad guy standing the in the middle of the road. He sprinted towards the car and attempt to do a parachute landing on the bonnet for absolultely no good reason as far as i could see. it was very bizarre and utterly surreal - bearing in mind less than 2 minutes had elapsed since i first dialled the phone number. i had swerve quickly and in the process bumped his arse really quite hard. He went spinning around but stayed on his feet while i hovered about wondering what to do. i put my foot down and got the heck outta there.

I thought about it for a while and realised that technically it was a hit and run. The down sides to reporting the incident is that firstly it would spoil a great story, secondly he was mad and thirdly it would be very hard to describe a nutter walking around Kings Cross with a pillow cover over his head and slits cut out for eyes without sounding like a nutter yourself. especially now that i don't have a job - being unemployed detracts from my credibility heaps.

eventually i decided to leave it, but i wonder if i will sleep tonight knowing that i bruised a freak?

JaneTV

2005-10-08T12:01:00.000+01:00

JANE TV HAS NOW CLOSED.

I HOPE YOU ALL HAD AS MUCH FUN AS I DID!