Is murder.

By: Peemil.

I bet you this guy thought, "Why don't they stop attacking me?"

As many of us would.

When it happens it moves all by itself.

By: Peemil.

The veracity of reports that I am, in fact dead, are not correct.

I am attempting to write a particularly difficult e-mail at the moment and am trying my best to avoid it.

Opening is always difficult. You should say something along the lines of, "I hope your fist lodges in your ass after a horrific cycling accident," or, "May Allah rain down rock hard muffins on your head."

I have had a thing for muffins of late, however, I haven't yet bought any. Every time I pass them in the supermarket, I stop, pause and think about buying some. I deny them to myself because I like the feeling of bitter disappointment. That, and often I am being chased by knife wielding leprechauns from the fresh food section, so time really is of the essence.

Not American muffins, those sweet things, but English muffins. The ones you put in the toaster and put great dollops of butter and Vegemite on.

Lord be praised!

Driving through the park recently I wondered exactly what I was doing. So did a young couple who were having a picnic.

They didn't have many muffins.

Recently I've taken to the park in the afternoon with a six pack, a book, grapes, sandwiches and crisps.

A woman stopped to talk about shit, but I think she wanted to eat my crisps.

Either that, or she was eying my beer.

I gave her some of both, but then she claimed that she actually knew me.

I tried to stick my finger in her cunt through her underwear and she jumped back aghast.

"What are you doing!" she exclaimed.

She doesn't know me that well.

After fucking your mother in the arse, I wiped my dick on your sister's mouth.

By: Peemil.

Apparently, a new Blade Runner is going to be released. "The Final Cut," or something of the like.

I realized yesterday that I haven't seen this movie, and after a bit of a hunt around Youtube, I found a segment of it that I quite enjoyed.

My friend L. has probably seen it, and is shaking his head in disgust. What can I say? I don't even have a Blockbuster card.

I found my beer in the bathroom.

The walls keep getting in the way.

This is the soundtrack of my days at the moment.



So tell me? I'm jubilant today. It has been a while since I've smiled.

Can we fight the Germans again? In fact, let's fight everyone. Welcome to Peemil's University of International Relations.

1. If they smell funny they ought to die.

2. Banzai! We die for the Emperor!

3. What are you lookin' at punk?

4. Don't get pissed! You can walk off a couple of rounds in the arse.

5. Don't even breathe near my fucking girlfriend.

6. The reason that I took your chair is because I spilt beer on my own. Deal with it cunt.

7. Your black missus is lookin' mighty fine.

8. Your mother has every venereal disease known to man.

9. You see my friend? I'll give you fifty dollars to blow him. I hear you poofs do it for less.

10. Oh? They're your motorbikes I pushed over?

We are your brothers.

H. and I talk and talk. I like her.

For D.



I asked God to be more providential with the heating of the beans.

He told me that I ought to stop hanging my balls out on the stairs.

Bastard! Why does he make it so difficult?

La paloma es agua potable

Stop putting it in the toaster.

Important news from the Undergroud. 4 5 4 2 5 6 2 5 4 8 7 1 3 6 4 2 7 3 6.

By: Peemil.

Soon there will be a great nuclear holocaust.

The people on the rolling hills soaking up the money and blood of the poor and enfeebled, who they left for their houses of bitter gingerbread, will give pause, turn and run.

Amongst the wreckage many will take their own lives, and others, alone without misery, will take to enforcing their wills.

Those of the day will tremble in terror at the fire of the own making.

Others will complain of eating the eyes of the nuclear fried for sustenance and a long held desire since High School.

It's soon you sick bastards.

You have been warned.


Above: A couple of swells.

Summer has come early this year.

By: Peemil.

When Truckee, Calif. animal control officer Robert Brooks got a cell phone call five minutes after his shift ended, saying a bear was trapped on the arch of a roughly 100-foot high bridge, he was sure it was a joke.

But then he went to the Rainbow Bridge and saw a bear nestled below the car deck.

The black bear had tried to cross the two-lane California highway on Sept. 15. But Brooks said cars approaching in both lanes honked, and the scared bear climbed over the concrete railing. Somehow in his panic, the bear reached the bridge arch, a few feet in from the car deck edge.

Seattle Post-Intelligencer.













I suppose it's all our ends really.

Your wife needs more ball time.

By: Peemil.

18 Now the birth of Iesus Christ was on this wise: When as his mother Mary was espoused to Ioseph (before they came together) shee was found with childe of the holy Ghost. 19 Then Ioseph her husband being a iust man, and not willing to make her a publique example, was minded to put her away priuily. 20 But while hee thought on these things, behold, the Angel of the Lord appeared vnto him in a dreame, saying, Ioseph thou sonne of Dauid, feare not to take vnto thee Mary thy wife: for that which is conceiued in her, is of the holy Ghost. 21 And she shall bring forth a sonne, and thou shalt call his Name Iesus: for hee shall saue his people from their sinnes.

What a way to get it over on your old man.

Slut!

An Odeish to my Balls.

By: Peemil.

I am so tired of my testicles bleeding for no apparent reason.

It always seems to happen while I am in the shower, which leads to much blood being everywhere and yet another soiled towel.

Before you think that I am brutalising myself to extremes in there, I can tell you that you are wrong. Even I am not that sick as to keep wanking while bleeding profusely from my balls.

Although, I once ate a Canadian girl out who was on her period, but that was because we'd just been chased by a Thai guy with a shotgun and I was hungry.

I am not going to bother going to a Doctor, because they are quacks and don't know what they are talking about most of the time. Instead, I will diagnosis and treat myself.

My theory is that I am the reincarnate of Saint Bella of Alazikie, who is both a little known saint and was quite the lady killer. According to legend, he traveled most of early Christendom spreading the good word and chasing tail.

That was until he set eyes upon the Roman Emperor's wife, who quickly succumbed to his busy hands and quick tongue.

The Emperor was furious when informed of his wife's philandering and subsequently Saint Bella was arrested and crucified by the balls.

This theory therefore confirms that my current problem is a stigmata, and also that I am closer to God than any of you punks.

H. and I have been playing telephone ping pong all day. It is about to rain soon, so I hope she turns up and we'll get stoned and she can rub my head, which is what she likes to do - because unlike you mob, at least she talks to me and doesn't think I'm some kind of whacko for talking about my balls.

Get fucked.


Above: Saint Bella of Alazikie

Out my window I see you.

By: Peemil.

You'd be surprised how often this happens to me at the dinner table.



This doesn't happen often enough.

Get me close to the honey pot.

By: Peemil.

I had something extremely important to say today, but I can't think of it because I just ran out of cold beer.

I must go to the Bottleshop and get some more. I should only be five minutes.

Instantaneous writing at its best, without the audience.

I went for a cigarette and started thinking about the Strait of Hormuz.

American hegemony must be protected at all cost - And for the sake of ice-cream makers the world over.

Word is, that all ice-cream makers will be sold into Islamic slavery if we do not conquer the Caliphate.

Free Ben and Jerry!

I still don't have any beer.

The Australian Federal election will be called on Sunday evening.


Above: Anal slaves of Mohammed's mates.

Be fried banana on my fish tank grasshopper.

By: Peemil.

I woke up this morning with snot on my finger, which means that I was probably picking my nose, got a good one out, and left it there to dry.

Sometimes I just lose my head. I have found something that I have the potential to love, and will most probably provide the money that I need to do the other things that I already love. I am not a prostitute.

If I were a woman, I'd be a slap-her-funny, probably infested, scratch your hard-on, moan for me whore. Let's face it. You women have got it easy. All you need to do is to get drunk enough to fuck after having all your drinks paid for by some guy.

And to do that, all you need to do is not eat anything and have a run around the block every day. Fat bitches are just soft, and aren't trying hard enough.

"And Sargent Dow Jones, 27 years old, commanding his very own tank."

Kraft are a mob of cunts. They've changed the average size jar of Vegemite from 455g to 400g and are still charging the same price. There should be a national outrage.

God damn it, just go up for fuck's sake!

Many people wonder where I am through the day. The answer is- I'm not home.

Stop thinking of dry humping my dog, you filthy swine!


Above: Seek and destroy.

It's all here.

By: Peemil.

The first picture I ever spunked over. And maybe, the last one of tonight.


Above: Who's a lucky girl?

Someone tried to run me down on their bike today.

I made pirate noises last night.

By: Peemil.

I was talking to my Prime Minister today and I asked him what his wife's pussy taste like.

"Melon," he tells me.

"Soon though," he continued, "I'll have to beg for it."

"Why is that?" I inquired.

"Because I'm selling it to the Iranians in exchange for ten poppies, a lock of hair, and a plastic fairy wand for which I shall scratch my back with."

Strange man our Prime Minister.


Above: Fruit.

You can take it.

By: Peemil.

When elected, I promise to execute every third person.


Above: Brmm!

O.H.M.S

By: Peemil.

Bed time for Peemil.

By: Peemil.



A fat man died today.

We should all be tearful because there just aren't enough fatties in the world, and the loss of one, is a grave tragedy.

In pyjamas.

By: Peemil.

Today I discovered that the best song to listen to in the laundromat is Velvet Underground's "Venus in Furs."

Something about that song just clears my head, the same way that the washing machines clear the skid marks of my tightie whities.

I can't wait till I get a girlfriend and she can lick them clean like the cheap whore that she is. The laundromat, despite the VU, is a real drag.

Anything by the Cocteau Twins is making it's way up the best songs to listen to while waiting for something, or someone.

I imagine that a lot of the Cocteau Twins has been the last tune heard by a successfully suicidal Emo teen.

People will often boo-hoo about teen suicide and point fingers directly at Emos and their like.

I take the approach that if you want to mix depressing music, a pathetic outlook, bad dress sense and teenage hormones, then you deserve what you get.

It is much like a hard-core raver taking a wander in the desert and swallowing a handful of ecstasy.

I think the girl who cuts my hair is on her period. She smells like it.

That's all I have to say today.

I'm horny and want to jerk off now.

*BANANAS*