WE’RE BREEDING A GENERATION OF PUSSY-ASSED RETARDS!

WE’RE BREEDING A GENERATION OF PUSSY-ASSED RETARDS!

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Following on from my rant yesterday about everyones knee-jerk reaction to children grappling inside a ‘cage’, watching the news today confirmed why people are even thinking this way.

So what was todays ‘Get Nasty Evil Ninja Swearing And Wanting To Slap The Eyebrows Off People’ story?

School bans leather footballs from playground

*breathes deeply and counts to 10*

So, in case any of the little darlings in our schools get hurt whilst standing around in the areas where other children are playing ball games, schools across the UK have started to ban the use of traditional leather footballs in favour of sponge balls.

Yeah?!  I’ll tell you who’s got the fucking sponge balls!  YOU, YOU HEALTH & SAFETY COCK-NOSES!!!

We’re already shit at football in England, and now they’re taking away the realism of even learning to hone our skills in the playground?  Get real!

If you get hit in the head with a ball, then chances are you were playing in the same area as they were playing ball games.  Or playing the game yourself.  Either way it’s tough titty!

What next?  Ban kids from running around lest they have a little fliddy fall over and tear their petticoat?

Ban them from bending down or jumping?

Hopscotch?  Jumping on ONE leg?  Oh no no no!  They must now walk, trying to keep both feet on the floor and wearing a special helmet, elbow and knee pads!

Our kids are already getting more retarded with each year, so how the Hell is pandering to the lowest common denominator helping anyone?  Let the clumsy little bastards hurt themselves and they might learn not to do it again – don’t change the whole fucking World around them to make amends!

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They already brought in a rule years ago that kids aren’t allowed to play conkers without first wearing protective goggles, games like British Bulldog was banned on the first day of every term all through my school life, and I’ve even heard from a friend in Canada that they’ve banned the netting on the backs of the goal in case kids ‘get tangled up in them’!?!

They can’t even do Sack Races in school sports days, incase they fall over…  Not that they’d be allowed to win or lose the race, anyway…

Do they still let kids do science lessons?  I’m sure craft lessons are long gone to stop them accidentally stabbing themselves or bludgeoning each other to death with cotton reels and crepe paper!

It’s time the fuck-tards in charge of Health and Safety accept that humans have been doing this crap for centuries without dying out.  Surely Judges and solicitors can get real and throw out cases on the grounds of Darwinism?

Yeah, the meek are inheriting the Earth, alright…

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Should Children Do Cage Fighting?

Should Children Do Cage Fighting?

I saw a news report (so expect a rant) this morning where everybody was getting all uppity because two children have been ‘Cage Fighting’.

Here’s the BBC report: Boys’ fight in cage ‘very barbaric’ says Jeremy Hunt

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Right, which Nob Head even labelled this ‘cage fighting’?  Ok, so it’s in a cage, much like adult Mixed Martial Art (MMA) fighters go at it – but if I’m not mistaken that’s simply because they were fighting at the adult event?

On the report, they also said that there was NO striking allowed at all.  Therefore this was NOT MMA – it was just a grappling match.

Does that get you dropping your pitchforks if they called it a ‘Grappling Match’ instead of ‘cage fighting’?

One ‘expert’ even said that he was fine with children doing wrestling, but some of the moves these kids were doing could have caused serious damage if they’d made a mistake.

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What?

Wrestling is fake.  The whole point of wrestling is to perform stupidly over-the-top moves that would most likely kill anybody in real life!  MMA grappling moves technically can’t be performed with a ‘mistake’, because the whole purpose is to be able to adapt a move based on what your opponent does to stop you doing it!  It’s not scripted!

He also said he didn’t mind children doing this sort of thing in a controlled environment.  Could it be any more controlled than a martial art with worldwide support, which had paramedics and doctors at the ringside?  And add to this expert fighters who’ve spent their whole lives studying and are passing their best knowledge on to these children.  FFS do these people even think before they open their mouth?

So these kids weren’t wearing any padding or headguards.  Boo-hoo!  Get over it!  For one, let me just say again THERE WAS NO STRIKING, and secondly how often do kids get hurt playing the non-contact sport of football?

We don’t need your stupid politically correct protection!

These idiots have no idea about martial arts – especially grappling, where you can’t wear padding because if you do you can’t perform the techniques… or your opponent will use your padding to hurt you.

Does it need to be in a barbaric cage?  No.  And I bet they rarely do fight inside an octagonal cage – much like how boxers will rarely fight inside a ring.  These kids had probably trained for years in a dojo on padded mats before this.

This is nothing new.  Take away the labels and cage, and what we have is two children having a Judo match.

It’s just that the knee-jerk idiots will blow this out of all proportion as their latest crusade, and get it banned when its something that kids want, love, and might actually teach them some discipline.  And stop them sitting eating Greggs pasties and playing on a Nintendo DS whilst getting fat, then having a riot…

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Utterly Shit New Facebook Feed – Go And Die

Utterly Shit New Facebook Feed – Go And Die

All day I saw people whinging about yet more new and unoptoutable (is that a word?) changes that Facebook were making.  I couldn’t see much difference apart from some of my groups in the list were missing.  Or MORE, I should say, as the rest disappeared a while back during other changes…

Getting back tonight and sitting down with a nice monkfish tail and noodles, I called up Facebook and… It’s here!

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What, in the blue-arsed spasticated baboons arse of a CUNT have they gone and done now?!?

For fucks sake!

I’m greeted with ‘Top Stories’.  Thanks, but no thanks.  Good idea, but useless to me.  How do I change it back?  I can’t??

Ok, so I go down the list of posts on my news feed, and click the options tag to the right of their post, to find that by default, I’m only going to see ‘most’ of that friends posts on Facebook.  I have to go through the 300-odd (some very odd) friends on their individually to change this so I can see ALL their posts like before??  FUCK YOU.  FUCK YOU RIGHT UNDER THE FINGERNAILS WITH THE EDGE OF A CORRUGATED PIZZA BOX, YOU UTTER CUNTS!!!!

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Surely the default setting should be to see ALL posts, and in time order from the most recent??  That’s the whole fucking point of Facebook??

I’m only on there to keep in touch with friends, and more importantly to be ENTERTAINED by what they say!  I like to think some on there will be ENTERTAINED by what I post, too!

But are they even seeing it now?  Am I seeing them?

Have they sold Facebook to MySpace?  Because I loved that place until they utterly fucked it up to the point where I scrapped my 1 million view blog to start again from scratch on a site that wasn’t shit!

Facebook has done even worse, because where MySpace simply ignored anything to do with blogs, FaceFuck has directly fucked up the entire point of being there.

Bravo!

*applauds sarcastically*

And you film was shit, too.

Cunts.

https://i0.wp.com/www.evilmilk.com/pictures/Fuck_You403.jpg Facebook, being the ball that Facebook dropped, yesterday.

Yeah, So I Lived In A Haunted Cottage – I turned Out (kind-of) OK!

Yeah, So I Lived In A Haunted Cottage – I turned Out (kind-of) OK!

I’ve mentioned in previous blogs that I’ve had ‘encounters’ with ghosty-type stuff.

From when I was about one year old until I was 5, I lived in a tiny cottage with my Nan, Mother, Grandparents and brother. It was one of those Tudor (?) type ones – all black and white and beams and stuff. My Grandparents (on my Mothers side) both died when I was young, so I’m a little hazy over the timelines. Actually there’s a story about my Gran I’ll have to tell, too…

One of my earliest memories is us all sitting in the living room, and hearing footsteps walking across the room above us. At the time it was my Grandparents room, and there was a big double bed in the middle of the room. The footsteps would go straight through the bed, but my Granddad would simply say “She’s walking again.” And that was it. It was also a regular thing to hear someone descending the stairs, then when they reached the bottom, the door at the bottom of the steps would blow open with some ‘freak gust of wind’. And to us it was just normal!

I have to tell this story: Once my Gran was really ill with an ulcer on her leg which had burst. She was bed-ridden. People would go and check on her through the day, and take her food etc.

One day, when someone went to check on her, she said “Who was the visitor I had earlier?”

She hadn’t had any visitors that day. But she insisted “She was sat on that chair over there with a baby in her lap. She didn’t say much, but she had a nice smile.”

Of course, it was put down to her illness and delirium…

When my Grandparents had both died (come to think of it my Granddad died in that room of a massive heart attack!), me and my brother had separate beds moved into that room. Now, I only remember it as being every so often, but apparently every single night I slept in that room, I would wake up screaming.

But I DO remember the reason.

I would wake up, and there’d be no air. The bedclothes were over my head. I was in darkness and the air was getting thin. Usually this was when the panic hit and I’d start screaming until good old Mumsy came in and got me out.

But I was a bright kid (believe it or not), and so sometimes when it happened – and I can remember doing this – I’d stay calm, and work my way around all the edges of the bedclothes, trying to find a way out. All the time in the pitch black with the air going and panic rising. But I could NEVER find a way out – however much and for how long I searched, I’d have to scream for help eventually…

Some relevant facts we found out more than 10 years later:

The ‘apparition’ (there’s plenty more sightings of her by lots of people) is thought to be Miss Morris.

It’s believed she had a baby, but for some reason (possibly post-natal depression) she killed her baby….

……….By suffocating it in its cot.

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Better Than A Poke In The Eye With A Sharp Stick?

Better Than A Poke In The Eye With A Sharp Stick?

[RANT ON]

Last night, I rode in the darkness (and without my trusty tinted visor) for the first time in months.

I was a bit rusty.  It takes a while to get all your confidence back in night riding.  A big part of riding a bike is looking through the corner to the exit, but of course the headlights only shine forwards, so essentially you can’t really see, and have to totally readjust your riding style.

Added to this, you can’t see the potholes and dead badgers.

And it was drizzling with rain.

I headed off down the country lanes, being very sensible, and it wasn’t long before a car approached from the opposite direction.

I was riding on high-beam headlights so as not to end up sniffing the hedgerows, and, as I always do, was riding with my thumb over the high beam switch.

This is a very simple concept:

When you shine a 6,000 watt light into someones eyes at night, they have trouble seeing.  If they are driving two tonne of metal or riding a bike at the time, this makes for a dangerous situation for all concerned.  Especially with rain to refract the light so that it blinds you even more.

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When traveling down your average country lane, you can see a vee-hick-al coming the other way very clearly, because their headlights illuminate the hedgerows and can be seen with a clear view from miles away.  At worst, you have a good few seconds notice that someone is coming around the same corner in the opposite direction.

ALLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL you have to do is flick that -ing switch back to dip-beam BEFORE your lights are shining directly at the oncoming vee-hick-al, and all is right and good in the world.

It’s that simple.  See the reflection of lights approaching, dip your headlights.

It’s common fucking sense.

So why does every braindead zombie cunt-wig leave their lights on high beam until I take both my hands off the bars, covering my face and screaming like some bloody Triffid has spat in my face, slowing to a 2mph crawl as I try to wobble to the left of the brain-searing source of the light without dying???

And what can you do about it???

‘Bastard Instinct’ makes you flash your lights at them, but all this really does is blinds them, meaning you’re even more likely to die.  So this can’t be the best plan, can it?

Or there’s getting on the old Noddy horn, but this is a bit Ghey.  Most bike horns sound like a virgin farting in a lift, anyway.  It’s not very intimidating.

How would the Law look on someone who is half blind turning around, chasing down some High Beam Twat, dragging them out of their car, and beating them to death with their own brainstem?

Fuckers.

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The Romantic Passion That Women Dream Of…

The Romantic Passion That Women Dream Of…

Lowering his hand back to his side, he waited eagerly at the door to her house.

How long had it been?  Three weeks?

Whatever – it felt like ten times that!

His heart started to race as his mind flashed to the near future.  She’d open the door to him, and they would fling their arms around each other – an embrace tight enough that it would be as if they were physically trying to rejoin their souls.

He’d force himself to slow down, to pull back and look at her face; into her beautiful eyes.  He’d take in that smile, and the burning desire in her eyes.

Cupping a hand to the perfect line of her jaw and cheek, he’d be helpless to put his lips anywhere but to hers.  He’d relish the soft warm texture of her, the taste of her making him soar almost out of his body.  She always made him high.  Even if his last kiss had been two minutes ago.

She’d run the fingers of one slender hand through his hair, pulling him closer, and he would trace his fingertips down her back, maybe feeling her shiver and sink against him.

Then they’d reluctantly break off the kiss, the welcoming smile now gone from her gorgeous mouth, and replaced by the dark-eyed need of passion.

Without a word, she’d take his hand and lead him inside, and he’d already be there with her – no place he’d rather be, wrapping her in his arms and kissing her deeply again as the door slammed shut unnoticed.

She’d want him, right there, right now – and it would be like a three-legged race (in more ways than one) to get up the stairs, neither even aware of the journey until the soft bedsheets were beneath them, and buttons were popped open – zippers unzipped.

The first shudders of delight as private flesh felt a brief glimpse of the cool air, before more warm skin enveloped the area, kissing, sucking, fingers playing softly over what was now hard.

The race would still be on, and the first sign of slowing pace would be as he slid inside her for that first time – that first time that they both relished so much, holding there, open-mouthed in pleasure, kissing once more before moving with each other.

Their cries of ecstatic release would be the first wordless exchange between them, followed by the unspoken “I love you” as they nuzzled together, breathing hard, now kissing softly and wanting to wrap around each other forever…

The door opened and snapped him back to the present.

She smiled.

He stepped forwards to take her in his arms.

She stepped aside, letting him inside the house, a tender hug and a quick delicate kiss.

“Don’t mess up my lip gloss!” She said, smoothing out imaginary creases in her dress from the hug.

“Go and sit down.”  She motioned him towards the couch as she carried on getting ready.

Here’s the reality of romance, he mused, heart hardening like a lump of discarded clay.

Here’s where all their dreams of romance and passion really end up.

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Erotic Writing – A Warning And A Whinge!

Erotic Writing – A Warning And A Whinge!

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I first started blogging back in the MySpace days of glory under this name because it wasn’t the name anybody knew.  This was partly to see if some of my writing and rants could make the charts even without my regular readers… but mainly so I could write the stuff that I couldn’t get away with anywhere else.  Like relationship problems and some of my more, ahem, controversial writing.

With the move to WordPress and the advent of Facebook, that kind-of knocked it all on the head.  If you’re on my Facebook, then the chances are you’ll have at least seen my blogs.  This is A Bad Thing, when you consider Facebook people are Real people I might have to see on a daily basis.

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That said, since MySpace went shit and died like a palsied ferret after falling down a well, I have been reposting some of my old blogs on WordPress.  Both because I’ve had requests, and because I think they need to go on here, they’re going to be here eventually.

So, yeah… If you know me personally and are reading this, I’m afraid that I WILL be reposting the old ‘Sex Blog Thursday’ pieces on here when I fu- sorry, PLUCK the courage up.  If you don’t like it – don’t read it.

And another thing about all this ‘erotic’ writing!

Correct me if I’m wrong, but ‘erotic’ does not mean ‘kinky, perverted shit’!  Or does it???

It seems to me that the majority of ‘erotic’ pieces have to involve whips and chains and biting and stuff!  what’s it all about?

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To me, proper erotica is more about the subtler descriptions of sex.  Basically a toned-down version of the stories you get in porn mags – better written, and conveying some kind of feelings between the subjects.

OK, so that could include bondage and all that, but it’s not ‘normal’ sex, is it?

I’ve never been tied up or tied anyone up for sex.

There’s been no spanking during my sex play (err, apart from a few times taking the piss).

No riding crops and nipple clamps have ever been produced by my lovers – nor has blood been drawn.  Not that I’ve ever been pleased about, anyway!

I haven’t been called ‘Daddy’, or dripped hot wax over anyone’s nether regions!

I’m British, don’tcherknow!!!

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Yet almost all ‘erotic’ stuff on MySpaz or anywhere seems to involve some serious kinky shit.

Now sex outside and all that could be seen as ‘kinky’ by some.  What I class as ‘kinky’ is anything that you would be reserved about asking a new partner to do/be a part of before you’ve subtly sounded them out.  Let’s face it – if you whip out a pony-tail buttplug, your new partner could well run screaming/laughing from the bedroom.

Maybe it’s because a lot of erotica is fantasy, and this kind of kinky shit is actually every womans fantasy, deep down?  Most writers in this field are women, anyway.

Or is it just that the less kinky women never bother to write erotica?

Is the ‘normal’ erotica a bit, well, boring?

What’s kinky to you – and has anyone ever tried to take something too far and it’s made you laugh/scream/run away?

Am I just all innocent and inexperienced?

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