I’m sure by now you’ve all seen these alleged humour books. To name but a few; Do Ants Have Arseholes And 101 Other Bloody Ridiculous Questions? Why Don’t Penguins Feet Freeze And 114 Other Questions? And the ever-popular Does Anything Eat Wasps? Now maybe it’s just me but I am sick to the pit of my stomach of going into W.H Smith and other book retailers and seeing these fucking stupid titles for novels. Seriously, if Shakespear knew what he was unleashing upon the world he’d of shot himself in the fucking face. So I’ve decided to write my own online version, entitled, Why Do People Write Books With Stupid Fucking Titles That Only EVER Amuses Them??
Chapter one
Is mankind so befert of original, clever and witty ideas for novels that the idea for books now comes from two or more drunk fuck-wits down the pub sitting there on a boring Sunday afternoon wasting more money and braincells on drink when they could be doing something clever and productive and useful to mankind instead? And one drunken fuck-wit looks at the window ledge next to him and spots upon it a dead wasp. Now drunk fuck-wit #1 turns to his mate and grunts and snorts something completely unrecognisable to normal human beings but because these two apes have been mates for a few years they’ve clearly formed some kind of repartee with each other where they can understand each others primortial grunting. Now fuck-wit #1 has grunted and the grunt translates into ‘look a wasp’. His drunk friend who we’ll call fuck-wit #2 looks over with a half-smile on his stupid, ugly, lop-sided face and grunts in reply ‘is it dead’. Fuck-wit #1 replies ‘yeah I think so’ so both men turn away from the dead wasp and stare into their drunks for a few moments until fuck-wit #2 turns back to fuck-wit #1 and says ‘I wonder if anything will eat it’ and BAM! there you have your book title right there. Instead of leaving this poor dead creature where it is they then pick up it’s dead, decaying body and haul it around town. First they try to get a worm to eat it because they’re drunk and the worm looks around fifty billion times bigger then it is. But the worm slides away. Not put off these two fuck wits stumble forward into the night trying to find anything that can and will eat the dead wasp. Next morning between packets of ready-salted crisps, more lager and a football match where Cuntfaces United try to beat Cum-rag City, fuck-wits one and two relate their story to a new fuck-wit who has joined them for the VERY manly act of watching a dozen grown men run up and down the field kicking a ball. Fuck-wit #3 decides that is ‘well class’ and a ‘pure minted’ story and then the three fuck-wits jump up and shower each other with beer and manly hugs of affection when Fillius MeHoleus for Cuntfaces United manages to kick a ball into a net. Seriously, the only thing that’s more homoerotic then a game of football is Long Way Round, the difference being I like Ewan McGregor and Charley Boorman. Now it just angers me when there are so many smart, intelligent, worth-while novels sitting ignored on someone’s shelf when complete and utter fuck wits are getting deals to write books to questions that no one has EVER cared enough to know because they’re not that fucking pathetic. Seriously you cunts, get a fucking grip and stop writing this worthless, meaningless shit.
Posted on December 3rd, 2007 by admin
Filed under: Blog
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