A Blog About Taking Pics For Cancer. For Cancer.

A Blog About Taking Pics For Cancer. For Cancer.

First there were hundreds of selfie pics appearing all over social networks.  Not the usual selfie featuring a toilet in the background – these were pics of women without any makeup on.

Interesting.  You don’t see it from most people very often.  Oh, and the ’cause’ is For Cancer.

That’s got to be good, right?

Then there was the inevitable male repost of them taking pics of themselves WITH makeup on.  For Cancer.

Fair enough.

Suddenly, in the true spirit of social media, people started posting pics of themselves naked, with a sock over their genitalia.  Cocks In Socks.  For Cancer.

Righty-ho, thinks I, still saying nothing, as it’s For Cancer.

This morning, I logged in to see a picture of a topless woman, with her ample breasts each tucked into a woolly glove to hide their modesty.  Tits in Mitts.  For Cancer.


Cancer awareness is a great cause.  I AM aware of cancer.   I don’t need to be reminded I could die of it by 50,000 posts on Facebook and Twitter!

“Ooh, look how fun and wacky we’ve made cancer!”

No.  What you’ve done is spread the kind of fear that most of you sheep subconsciously thrive upon.  Now all we’re seeing is “Yay, Cancer!!!” every time we log in.

Now here’s me making myself a cup of tea.  For Cancer.

He’s my cute little dog.  For Cancer.

You should all share this picture of a dwarf fisting a traffic warden!  For Cancer.

Yes, we could all get cancer.  I bet hardly any of you posting these self-indulgent pics are giving every spare penny you have to cancer charities, are you?

Now fuck off.  For Cancer.

“You Shouldn’t Be On Facebook When You’re Ill!”

“You Shouldn’t Be On Facebook When You’re Ill!”

I’m well aware some of my fellow work Monkeys read my blogs, so this could be a bit controversial (although at my place I haven’t heard of anything like this)…

(“That’s not like one of your usual blogs, Nasty Evil Ninja!”)

I’m writing this and I am ill*.


It’s ok – you probably won’t have to polish your shoes for my funeral, and stuff, but rest assured I the only possibly productive thing about me at the moment is my tramp-like mucus gland.

I feel like I’ve breathed in flames that have left my lungs and throat in tatters, my eyes are burning, head pounding, sneezing and coughing up bits of Kermit, and every damned joint in my body aches.

It is, without a doubt, A Shame For Me.

But, do you know what?  I can still get up and walk around.  I can get my own food and drink.  And I can use my laptop.

I say this because I have known several people who have got a bollocking from their work because they posted stuff on Facebook when they were ‘supposedly’ ill from work!

One friend removed all work people from their Facebook friends, because they got called in to see the Boss on their return to work, shown printouts of screen shots, and asked to explain.

So what had they been doing?

It wasn’t pictures of them out rollerblading and eating icecream.  It wasn’t them snorting cocaine off a hookers ample titties.  It wasn’t even for updating their status to show they were actually skiving off in Blackpool with their mates.

What one of their work ‘mates’ had reported them for was logging into Facebook.

Not posting anything, or even ‘liking’ anyone elses posts.  Just for showing up on the Instant Messenger as being online.

I raised the question: “Just how ill, exactly, do you have to be to stop you from logging in to Facebook?”


I’ve had friends with multiple broken limbs and brain injuries who posted a status from their hospital bed.

A friend in Japan a few years ago was keeping people informed during the devastation of the earthquakes.

And just what the fuck is next?

Will people be facing disciplinary action if a colleague drives past their house and sees that *gasp* the filthy skiving bastards have SWITCHED ON THEIR TV?!?

And does switching on a TV take more effort than ever-so-lightly typing on a laptop that’s right next to your snotrags?

And why the Hell would any manager worth their salt not bitch-slap the stupid grass who would even THINK to dob someone in for any of that?

And woe betide anyone ‘ill’ who manages to drive or walk to see a Doctor…

how swine flu started. haha. i wish i was that pig


Somewhat ironically, this blog was written over a week ago, and what followed was about 5 days of bed-ridden hallucinations and me being too bloody ill to post this!  Bah!  There was also a noticeable lack of posts from me on Facebook, which made this blog a bit redundant.  Bastard.

Complaint To Aldi: BBQ Chicken Pizza

Complaint To Aldi: BBQ Chicken Pizza

In these modern times of technology, even the multi-national store chains have had to embrace social media and networking sites.

It must be hard for them to manage, because inevitably, members of the public will log on to Facebook, go to their main page, and make a complaint about their product or service for all to see.

Being no stranger to having to write letters of complaint myself, I decided to give this process a go myself, and see what happened…

Aldi Pizza Complaint

Here is the wording, if you can’t read the picture:

Dear Aldi,
Please see the picture below of your BBQ Chicken pizza.

As the box claims, this has “20% more topping than the leading brand”.

Now count the five (honestly, some are hard to see, but there are FIVE) tiny chunks of chicken that can be found on the pizza.  Granted, the green pepper content is pretty good – but I didn’t buy a ‘green pepper BBQ pizza’.

Please could you identify what the ‘leading brand’ is, so that I can avoid the heart-wrenching despair of opening a pizza to only discover FOUR tiny pieces of chicken, and realise that if I cut my pizza into 8 slices, half of the ‘BBQ chicken’ pizza won’t, in fact, have any chicken content at all?

To help you in these troubling times, I would be more than willing to have the chicken content of all ‘chicken’ pizzas topped up (no pun intended) with horsemeat.

Yours sincerely,


And the picture, taken on my mobile only moments before:

Aldi Pizza

But wait!  15 minutes later, things got worse for this poor little NastyEvilNinja:

Dear Aldi,
In a sickening twist, and due to me cooking the pizza directly on the oven shelf, I have to inform you that one of the pieces of chicken close to the edge has fallen off as the pizza sagged during cooking.
I would have recovered this from the gunk at the bottom of the oven, but alas, it was too far gone…
At least it’s still equal to this ‘leading brand’, though…

Well, it’s Friday night, and they’re not going to beat Morrison’s emailed lettuce complaint response time – but let’s see what they can do…

Things Pissing Me Off Lately

Things Pissing Me Off Lately

Lollypop Ladies


Or Men – whatever. Modern times and all that.  These are the people in high viz from head-to-toe holding a big-ass lollipop, who step out into the road to allow all the little kiddy-winkles to cross in safety to get to and from school.

Except, these days, they only do this at pedestrian crossings!?


So this fluorescent twat of a person, who is probably ‘a bit paedy’, basically presses the fucking button at the crossing that a kid with half a brain would press anyway, and then only steps into the road when the lights are safely green and all traffic has stopped.

And schools moan about budgets?  Get to fuck, you money-wasting twats!

And that’s not to get into the fact kids should be pressing teh crossing buttons for THEMSELVES to teach them to do it when Lollypop Mong isn’t there.

Restaurant staff

How about the rotten cunts at restaurants who come around, just as you’re enjoying a mouthful of the food you’re paying extortionate prices for, and ask if everything is ok?

FUCK OFF! Do you want me to choke to death or spit my bastard food out all over you as I answer?

Well, you’d better duck, mother-fucker!

The Royal Baby


Everyone on facebook posts about it, moaning how it’s all over the news and they can’t avoid it and they don’t care etc.

The fucking irony is that I avoid the news (it makes me write ranty blogs), and Facebook is the only bastard place I have actually heard this news!

I don’t give a shit.  Wha-wha Royal Baby – I hope fucking Rumpelstiltskin gets it.  And you, for putting it on my Facebook feed.

And whilst we’re on about Facebook,

People who include a location for every -ing post on Facebook

I hope you get run over there. Then I’ll know where to come and laugh at you.

Otherwise I don’t give a kippers dick where you’re geeking about on your iPad 6 Thpethial Spak phone. Cunts.

Fancy cheese

Not the cheeses themselves, but the way you only get certain types in bloody useless wedge shapes.

WTF are you supposed to do with that? It’s 2012 – give me a -ing square block I can actually slice and put on my sammich!

And then there are the packet cheeses you see that are about 1/2″ thick and 6″ long. Who the FK eats that and HOW??

Secret Eaters


These are the latest ‘Fix a Fatty’ TV programmes. Basically they follow a lummox around secretly for a week keeping track of what they eat, then ask them to tell the truth about why they’re fat.

They plead they’re big boned, and don’t actually eat very much apart from the odd salad, before it’s revealed they’re eating 16000 calories per day.

Bollocks have you ‘forgotten’ the 3 portions of chips you bought between lunch and tea. You’re a greedy fat cunt and it’s all your own fault.

Come Dine With Me

This is the show where people host dinner parties for each other to see who is the best.

Aside from Welsh people always cooking lava bread, and Scots always serving haggis, there is always some lying little toerag who claims this is the first time they’ve ever made their chosen dish.

Get to fuck, is it!

Nobody but a mong would go on a competition program and NOT cook their finest dish that they can do! You’re not fooling me, just like every single cunt on X-Factor who has a sob story. Coincidentally.

Supermarket staff asking if I need help to pack

Yes, I do! Now pack it all up for me, bitches! Shouldn’t have asked, should you? Cunts.


“And then gently holding her thong to the side, he slid inside her…”

I used to be one of the main instigators for ‘Sex Blog Thursday’ on MySpace – where everyone would contribute by posting an erotic story or poem.  It’s quite shocking to think that it all ended 5 years ago, now!  Since then, I’ve been threatening to re-post some of the erotic short stories I wrote for this, but with most of my alias being now known through Facebook and stuff, I was too scared.

With the suddent spurting all over the scene by E L James and the ’50 Shades of Grey’ books, erotic fiction has now gone mainstream!  So, much as I tried to do with SBT, I’m going to post some of my erotica again to balance things out, and hopefully show that to be ‘erotic’ doesn’t mean you have to include bondage, spanking, and showing dolls up your arse to write something sexy.  You might even find some humour in my stories, too!  And so why not plunge in slow and deep with this one:

“And then gently holding her thong to the side, he slid inside her…”


Yeah, they were bad – but as his finger stroked her own juices over her clit for the first time, neither of them cared.

With her parents in the room above them, only her gentle sigh broke the silence of the house, and she twisted next to him on the couch so that he could move his hands easier beneath her skirt.

He kissed her hard, one arm around her back as his other hand worked deep beneath her black lacy underwear.  The curve of her hips always seemed designed for his hands, and he pulled her tighter towards him.

Breaking off the kiss with another gasp, her hair fell forward over her face as her hands scrabbled at his trousers.

He took the moment to deeply inhale the clean smell of her hair, her perfume topping it off as she released him to the cool air in the room.

She pushed him back firmly as her hot lips slid over him, tongue flicking at him, only taking him in her mouth for a few strokes before he sat back on the couch herself.

He smiled, slipping off the couch to his knees, a hand on each of her spread thighs running up to move her skirt higher, then pulling her hips sharply towards his own as he shuffled closer between her legs.

She hooked a finger around the delicate material of her thong, and pulled it to one side, watching his face as he followed her fingers.

No further invitation was needed, but the hushed “I want your cock” sent tingles down his spine just as much as the feeling of his tip against her warm wetness.

He slid slowly and deliberately all the way inside her, watching himself sink into her, and only looking up to see her head thrown back in ecstasy when he could push in no further.

He held himself there, and then lifted her hips off the couch, pulling her even more onto him, watching her face intently.  He lowered her as he slowly slid all the way out of her, her eyes flicking open to meet his for a fleeting second before he thrust quickly and deeply into her, lifting her with his hands again.

This time she cried out, biting the knuckles of one hand to stifle the cry, and grabbing at his arms.

Leaning forwards over her as he fucked her rhythmically, his hands moved to her breasts, and hers clawed at the back of his shirt.

She pushed him away from her, and turned herself so she was on all fours bent over the couch.

He pulled her thong to the side once again, before grabbing her hips hard and plunging into her again, slowing as the couch creaked, then speeding up again, unable to stop themselves as she pushed back hard against him with each thrust.

Both sweating now, she turned back around, arms around his neck as they kissed and moved with each other.

She buried her face against his shoulder to stop herself from crying out, feeling his body starting to tense up, and that’s when the bedroom door above them opened!

They both stopped dead, listening to the footsteps to see if they were headed down the stairs, and she clenched tightly around him, hoping to stop him from cumming.

He let out a throaty yelp as his orgasm came, the feel of her around him pushing him over the edge rather than holding him back, and her arms wrapped around him almost painfully as his spasms took her into her own release.

For long moments they stayed like that together, thankfully hearing the footsteps moving to the bathroom upstairs.

“I didn’t want you to cum!”  She whispered. “I thought that would stop you!”

He groaned and kissed her.

“No chance when you feel that good…”


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!


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!!!!


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.


*applauds sarcastically*

And you film was shit, too.


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

Putting ‘BIKER’ On The Census As Your Religion

Putting ‘BIKER’ On The Census As Your Religion

It’s coming around again soon – the Gubbinment will be sending you a load of questions at great expense to the taxpayers so that… umm… they know more stuff about us?



The important thing this time around is that when they ask me what religion I am, I am going to say it loud and proud that I am A Biker.

The road is my God, and the pathway there, too.

When I ride my bike it is a spiritual experience.  It’s a comfort to me when I feel lost or down.

Riding ‘in the zone’ is like a form of meditation.  It’s Zanshin – total awareness – as I try to see my surroundings before they happen, listening to every roar and click from my bike and trying my best to make sure as I execute my religion that nobody else is adversely affected by it.

We even have Priests – the mechanics who will fix up our trusty steeds and get us back on track.

A lot of us even just ride on Sundays!  And we have those living Gods amongst us:


And think of the benefits or getting our religion recognised!

Would a petrol station be allowed to force us to remove our helmet if it’s religious clothing?

Could they continue forcing us to pay such high tax on petrol – essentially taxing our religion?

It is my form of worship.  Being a Biker means I enjoy life, and get more out of it because of my choices.

We’re family out there – nodding a greeting as we pass total strangers simply because they’re on a bike.  Sure, there are different faction within the Biking religion – the Sportbikers have some hostility towards Harley Davidson riders, and everyone dislikes Scooter riders.  Motard riders are just thugs.  We’re not going to go to war over it, though, and many of us treat everyone under the Biker banner equally, as it’s something that unifies us all.


If you ride a bike, I bet you’ve put more effort into that than you have the made-up-deity, war-causing, only-when-it-suits-you religion that someone decided they’d choose for you before you were out of nappies!

It’s got to be done!

It is the time to show the World what we REALLY believe in!

Just put that single word as your religion: Biker.


***EDIT***: There is now a Facebook group for this, so get theeself joined and spread the word: http://www.facebook.com/home.php?sk=group_169227299791835