Big Banter Bastard

Alright sire, it’s just me baby, it’s just Lukat. Back from the dead once again for no feasible reason other than boredom and a pathetic need for attention. Pandering to you freaks and milking it like that Son of Dork reunion that no one wanted. Gone are the good old days of Myspace, pottering about with my rigid black hair and infected piercing trying to seduce insecure emo girls. Pc 4 pc they’d say, a shilling would buy a loaf of bread back in ye olde’ days but look at us now, old and forlorn.

You did this. You dragged me back. Here I am minded my own sweet business trying to watch Japanese girls giggle and sit on each other’s faces when you start flooding my stream with this Neknominate bollocks. Here’s a laugh, let’s drink a pint of dogger…let’s drink a pint of piss…some bleach…some blended dead ferrets, filming it for your own warped vanity, desparate for the applause as you wretch in to your own grubby urchin hands, grinning away like the feckless peasants you are.

I’m furious, furious and foaming at the mouth with rage I can’t even speak rarhghgh errghgh rarghghgghghhghgh. Back in my day we’d drink a pint of piss just for the pure adrenaline thrill and goodness of it. Now here you are filming away with these new fangled camera phones like you’re summat…when you’re nowt. A pint of piss we’d say back in the old days, a pint of piss good barkeep and we’d cycle back home on our penny farthings listening to Lost Prophets on our Walkmans. Back in the good old days when Ian Watkins was still a heart throb… but no… you selfish, judgemental women turned your back on him when he decided to take the music in a daring new direction. The nonce rock genre just wasn’t good enough for you sheep was it? How do you live with yourselves?

By the way if any of you tools feel like nominating me I will gladly drink a pint of your blood.

Well that’s just fine and dandy. What you been up to pal? How’s tricks? Wuu2? How r u? Wubup2????? Fuck off. I’ve been working pal, paying those bloody taxes like a proper boy. Errmmm…not being funny mate…I’m not being funny pal… but some of us have to bloody work instead of writing aimless blogs to sucker in a bunch of page views to compensate for my lack of social life. Errr Lukat you’re not funny now you’ve got a job. You were reyt fun when you were on the dole but you’re crap now. We don’t like you anymore. Up yours. I climbed the corporate ladder and I had to listen to a lot of fucking Radio 2 while I did it. I even worked in a call centre for a grand total of 20 days. ‘Good morning, this is Joe speaking. How can I help you today? Please excuse me for a moment while I confirm with the manager.’ Words like ashes in my mouth. The final straw came after I’d returned from my lunch break and confided in my colleague that during said break I’d read a book, to which he looked as though he was going to vomit in his mouth, confused and enraged by this concept of reading as a leisure activity. Fuck books though eh, fuck em in to the ground, the filthy earth, the cold, wet soil. All that’s left are the torn pages and a learned man’s ejaculate. Books are for fags.

Speaking of books, my book was a towering success. It was snubbed outright by over twelve different London agencies. To this I can only assume that my book was so provocative, so dangerous that they didn’t have the stones to take on a man of my stature. Who could have known a violent existentialist novel set in Burnley, featuring me as the protagonist being haunted by the ghost of the elephant man and a bunch of giant spiders wouldn’t be a critical and commercial success. That’s fine, those sad sacks couldn’t invest in the liquid gold currency that is my blood but here, just for you ultra fans is a snippet of my debut novel.

‘I find her in the back alley, getting finger fucked by this idiot.’

Profound.

Don’t worry there is plenty more where that came from but for now I’m working in a pretty respectable job with my ‘trendy’ haircut and my protein shakes. I sold out and I’m tapping my Cuban heels a long to the Quo with the best of em’. Don’t stop a rockin’ lads. I’m sure the vengeful lord will take all this away from me soon though. It’s good to be positive. That’s just the kind of bloke he is though, this God bloke. You say one bad thing about the geezer and he’ll give your gran cancer. He’ll kill off Philip Seymour Hoffman…he’ll kill off Heath Ledger...he’ll kill off Dennis Hopper yet the cast of Grown Ups 2 are free to go about their business as they wish, laughing it up over jokes about animal piss and high fiving each other’s farts. That’s the kind of comedy God likes, nothing too wordy, the broad stuff. Slapping his thigh while Kevin James lights up the silver screen. Good banter, quality banter.

That’s what you all want isn’t it? The fucking banter. The cheeky banter. That vague term used by witless idiots as a substitute for a personality. We don’t have any humour to speak of but we are dick heads, which is probably the same thing, so let’s just think of a collective term for it then anyone who’s not a total pecker is considered to be some bland outcast who can’t take a joke. Uhrrhh urhhrrr I only pissed on your chips pal can’t you take a bloody joke pal. I only slaughtered your entire family, can’t you take a bloody jokey joke. Here I am bitterly casting my eye over vulgar women on dating sites, with their big orange faces, wondering whether I look enough like Joey Essex to warrant a reply.

‘I work hard and I play hard. My friends say I’m fun and bubbly. I like a bloke with good banter.’

Yeh right, I’m chubby and dull and want to find a chap who treats me like total shit. Right on sister. You tell em’. Up with that there feminism. Here I am in a quandary, wracked with existential guilt, pondering what exactly banter is and if I have enough of said banter to allow me to get tossed off by a beauty therapist from Nelson. This crushing mental strain leads me to consult a dusty, aged book in the library in the east wing of my home. I brushed through the pages, gently removing the silk like cobwebs that adorned the yellowed script of this particular volume. I thumbed anxiously to the B’s in hope of a resolution to my problem, behold there it was, the elusive knowledge.

Banter

Noun (UK)

The humour of knob heads.

To drink several cans of Carling and fart in your bird’s face.

Well glad that’s sorted out. I can sleep well tonight.

See you in hell you bunch of squares.

Yours sincerely,

Lukat.

Loverman.

Ere Lukat why don’t you write blogs anymore? What’s wrong with you? You shark faced prick. You connoisseur of the big women. You dead pan pervert. You sold out, living it up in your minimum wage paradise, with your office job, your two screens and your sticky note pad. You’re out there changing the world, printing pictures of people’s tits and deceased pets on to various accessories and driving your second hand Vauxhall Corsa through Rishton every day. Why don’t you pour pints of cider down your pants anymore? What became of the public nudity? The public fingering? The vomming in to your owns hands? The sobbing whilst beating a man with your primitive fists? Yeh well I sold out. I’m not pandering to a bunch of fucking nobodies anymore. I hit the big time. £6.19 an hour. The Pimms is on me you bunch of squares. I’m just a normal bloke now. A normal blokey bloke, a top feller, sat in my sombrero nodding along to Feeder…Who’s blander than Feeder? Plodding along to Elbow…sighing along to Snow Patrol…gassing myself on exhaust fumes along to…The Fray. Whatever. Joe Bloggs. Average Joe. Billy Joel. Uptown girl…not to mention the other hits.

That’s right sunshine; I think I’m a big man now with my £6 haircut and my reading spectacles. Looking like a knackered Gary Barlow after being forced to live in a public toilet for 5 years with no sunlight. Like all the worst features of each member of One Direction…smothered in soot and left in the bitter night. Like a hollow Olly Murrs, riddled with herpes and eroded over time. Like an overused simile in a half arsed blog with no commercial or spiritual gain. This is my slow decline, my middle age. This is my Indian summer; put me out to pasture with a hot coco and a book before bed. Let me put on my wicker slippers and sit back in my favourite armchair, clicking my fingers to Ricky Martin...hey hoo…hey…nahhh nahhh livin’ la vida locaaa…this guy can carry a tune…this guy has rhythm and I bet he has an eye for the ladies too. This is my level, pass me another herbal cigarette whilst I sway the night away…but that’s not good enough for you leeches is it? No you want me out there humiliating myself. You want me pantless, whizzing my dignity away in the gutter in the dead of night. You want to force me to ‘get out there’ in to the stinking, wretched world, dragged from my phantom of the opera-esque existence. You want me to join online dating websites don’t you, you sick scumbags? Hassling women with big, strange faces. Getting ignored by people I vaguely dislike. Women who describe themselves as fun and bubbly when really they mean dull and irritating. Hey hey alright babes how's it going AHAHAH what do you like? I like whatever you like hahah? Go on tell me what you like and I bet it’s exactly the same as what I like too. Yeh Keith Lemon isn’t he great, he’s so witty. Yeh Gangam style…although I don’t order takeaways that often. Is it good?  Nah I’m not a twisted nihilist psychopath haha I’m a reyt cool guy, a normal bloke. I’ve never consumed flowers or been bottled by a lesbian. Don’t worry about it babes. No? Aww cummon’? I’ll kill myself if you don’t go bowling with me. I will FUCKING END MY LIFE RIGHT NOW. What’s up with me eh? Cummonnn just touch it a bit. With your little finger. Blow on it with a straw. Handle my flaccid member with a teaspoon. With a velvet glove? Nah? Well fair enough. Fuck it then.

No…no that wouldn’t be enough for you would it? You want more don’t you? You want me to go on Take Me Out. Thrown before the studio lights and the sweating Northern face of Paddy McGuiness. Thrown out in front of those Jezebels, those harpies, those vulgar wenches…from places like Sunderland…and Liverpool…and Hull.

I can hear McGuiness’ voice a hideous vibration in the air. Cracking his little puns, his jokes…let the whatever see the whatever…harharhar. Come on girls clap, clap for the monkey as he comes down. Licking their lips like savages waiting for it, waiting for their chance to be disappointed. Clap clap clap. Here he comes. IT’S JOEY…FROM BURNLEY. Lowering the poor fucker down to the sound of Shaggy ‘it waznt mi…la laalalalal laallalala…it wuzznt mi’. Look at him, doing his little Jig, the jester dancing for the entertainment of the women. Dancing in his double denim…no wait…triple denim…a little denim waistcoat…no you want more…quadruple denim… a little denim undershirt…and little denim booties…Oh dear god no…you monsters…a denim cravat…no? Still not enough. You want maximum denim…ultimate humiliation…a little denim cat perched on top of my head. Veering off to both sides and doing a little dancing turn so the women can check me out. Booing me…that’s right they’re booing me...violently smashing their lights off with furious sneers on their faces...but I’m still doing my little jig, come on girls look at my personality, such a good personality isn’t it. ‘It wuznt mi.’ Paddy shakes my hand; his palm feels cold and distant. The palm of a man being paid substantially to feast on my shame. He asks the cackling women why they turned their lights off. ‘EEH HE LOOWKS LIKE HE HAS A REYT SMALL COCK PADDY.’ Hahahahhaharhrhrharh the crowd erupts with laughter. More turn their lights off, glaring at my denim clad crotch rendering it insufficient. Paddy moves on, the Geordie lass rasping away with her cigarette worn voice ‘WAY AYE MAN HE SHOULD GET HIS WEE COCK OUT LYK’. Paddy pulls my pants down, handling my member with his studio chilled fingers, trying to measure me with a child’s ruler as the women boo and hiss.

A few of the fat chicks keep their lights on. There’s still hope. What’s your talent Joey? Come on what’s your special talent?

‘Well err…I’m a writer. I write books, well novels mainly, some poetry?’

YOU WHAT LAD….ERRRRR IS HE A QUEER OR SUMAT.

‘But err I don’t know, I don’t really have any interesting talents to speak of. I’m sorry Paddy…I’m sorry…girls.’

A hot tear falls from my sodden eyes, delicately dancing down my flustered cheeks.

EEEH WELL THAT’S A BIT SHIT JOEY LAD. WHY DON’T YOU PUT ON THESE LEATHER CHAPS AND DANCE AROUND WITH THESE FIRE STICKS WHILE DWARVES TRY AND SPIT ON YOUR FEET?

 ‘Well if you insist Paddy. If you think that’s what’s best…I mean I don’t really like juggling fire…semi nude…the dwarves they look so angry…but err...if I have to? If that's what the beautiful girls would like?' 

OH PADDY HE’S DEAD BORING INT’ HE…HE’S SOOO FOOKIN’ BORING. BOOOOO BOOOO.

Come on Paddy, roll the video clip, let’s see what his friends and relatives have to say.

‘He’s very open minded. He hates all races and cultures equally. He’d be just as happy sneering at a mosque as he would a Catholic church. A very spiritual man.’

‘He’s a strong believer in women’s rights. He has no problem picking a fight with an angry bald chap or a gritty lesbian. Many times I’ve seen him battered mercilessly by spiky haired women with powerful forearms.’

‘He’s awful in bed. A selfish lover. The only man who I’ve ever seen fake an orgasm after drinking himself impotent on newsagents Vodkat.’

WELL WHAT DO YOU THINK GIRLS …NO LIKEY…NO LIGHTEY.

Booooooooo……booooooooooooooooooo…booooooo.

Go on Joey. Fuck off with your tail between your legs, clad in your supermarket denim. Just do one eh?

I’ve been feeling lately after years of swallowing prescription meds and drinking myself stupid just to feel alright. In a world where we chow down on our dead horse meat balls and check out who the latest celeb nonce is this week, maybe my head’s not so broken after all.

Yours sensually.

Lukat.

Dog Shit King

Alright geezers, it’s been a while I know…a while I say, possibly a year, has it been a year? I don’t know... time is but dust drifting away in the hour glass, what’s an hour glass you say? Well it’s some kind of glass structure that contains sand and indicates the passing of time through the process of the sand…well you know fuck it…where was I? Yeh it’s been a long time and like an old lover I’m back, filling your head with false promises and ushering you to lick home made treacle from my fingers. Can one make treacle or is it found? Do you know what treacle is? It exists, it definitely does and of that I can assure you.

So where have I been? What has been so important that I can’t weave my weekly web of bullshit for you faceless nobodies? What indeed. Well I got a job so now instead of writing blogs for the unemployed and chronic masturbators I now write blogs for the elderly about how cuddly and cosy their new heatable cushions can be. Wuvvly duvvly. So now I’m completely without testicles and work around 80 hours a week for my minimum wage pennies rather that hassling the good people at Burnley Job centre for my weekly drippings and gruel. It’s hard to imagine one has less dignity being employed than one did on the dole but you know I tell you, it’s a tough transition…much like making love to Chris Moyles or James Corden…they are most definitely two different entities but after waking up next to both of them in the morning you still find yourself filled with the same feeling of nausea and self loathing, no matter what the seedy profit.

I find the best way to stay employed when one is a man of the Lukat’s strong viewpoints is to tone things down a little…and by tone things down I mean refuse to acknowledge that you have a personality or interests of any kind. That’s right…do I care for sport? Fuck no. Do I enjoy music? Nope never fucking heard of it. Women? I wouldn’t know I’m asexual. That’s right I have no opinions of any kind and am about as useful to have a conversation with as an inanimate wax work of my own physical form, which is yet to be produced but I have most certainly sent an envelope of nude photographs smeared with soil addressed to ‘Missus Tussaud’ and I’m sure the old hag is busy working on it right away. That’s ok though I don’t need a personality in the real world as I can hide behind my laptop screen typing away angrily with two fingers like the coward I am, acting the big man on the internet when out on the street I’m NOWT…NOWTTTTTTT. Until someone is willing to pay me more than minimum wage to be a bell end I suppose we’ll have to settle for things the way we are.

Unlike Mark Wright who IS getting paid significantly more than minimum wage to be the very bell end to which I referenced early in this paragraph. Who is Mark Wright you say? Well I don’t have a fucking clue either but he exists, oh he definitely exists, in human form, with his eyes and his ears he is most definitely there, most likely hiding a festering foetus of ignorant political views, generic racism and a smattering of homophobia within him. Yes Mark has a new TV show ‘Mark Wrights Hollywood Nights’. Don’t worry I haven’t watched it…but how Lukat…you naïve scum can you dare comment on Mark’s quality work without having seen it? Why do you feel you can pass judgement…fuck off…it’s shit…nerr nerr nerr he’s shit…dog shit…smelly dog shit…ohhh woahhh…yeh so anyway I saw the advert which was enough, and from what one can gather Mark Wright is heading to Hollywood to be a useless twat in a different time zone…but he can’t bloody do it alone can he now? No he must be escorted with his bland entourage of dough faced non entities to get the job done. The job I assume is looking for some ‘fanny’ and making homophobic comments whilst being attractive to women who have no self esteem. Not that I’m jealous or anything. You know…when I’m hiding in the toilets before work while a gentleman takes an overly audible and putrid shit next to me whilst I recite the mantra  ‘I want to die…I want to die’ …staring in to the abyss…and Mark Wright is getting paid more for one TV show than  I earn in a whole year…to go to America and try and finger a few lasses on the dance floor…that doesn’t make me bitter…because Mark Wright is better than me… a better thinker…a better man. He has a charisma and charm that I can not contend with and he deserves his own TV show with his despicable friends…the group of them combined worse than Hitler…worse than several Hitler’s…no they deserve it as they are great men with talents that I can only dream of one day gazing up towards…but the one thing I do better…the one thing I have that just sets me apart from Mark…the one thing that shines a little light on my drab life…the one thing…is that I am not…. Mark Wright.

So anyway let’s make this short and sweet since it’s my comeback, these tight hamstrings need to be stretched out, I’m still returning to match fitness but rest assured that I will probably write another blog within the next year as I am that committed. Now if you’ll excuse me I’ll most likely just go to bed now and curl up in a ball sobbing myself to sleep to the sound of my alarm clock…ticking…ticking away till I have to get up again and face the world with my beady hate filled eyes. Smell you later…LOSERS.

More Feline Frolics.

I just stood in the battering wind and pouring rain and watched a horse take a dump in a field. This about sums up my life at the moment.

Yes maybe this isn’t the glamour life I always dreamed of but at least it’s mine. Maybe sitting on public transport all day with alcoholics and people with vile body odours isn’t everyone’s cup of tea but this is MY return ticket to Blackburn and these are MY dole forms and this is MY lukewarm 4 pack of Carlsberg. Maybe crawling to the job centre on your hands and knees for your dole pennies would make a lesser man feel somewhat small or shameful but not I… for I am the Lukat…hear me purr….purrrrr….purrrrrr…meowwww…REEEEEER. This bitch got claws.

So anyway as I sit here staring at facebook waiting yet again for a job to call back and tell me I have been unsuccessful this time (but GOOD LUCK in all future endeavours…so nice of them) you begin to wonder what it’s all about…not life, no…we know what that’s about don’t we. Life is a series of crushing blows and rejections until we all eventually wither and die, it’s an uplifting thought…BUT NO…what is facebook about? This little white and blue screen where I have all these pretend friends who share their deepest darkest secrets with me, usually punctuated with some kind of emotive face. Oh something bad happened I’m sadddd…sad face : ( …Really, what was it? YOU AREN’T DYING ARE YOU? PLEASE GOD NO, DAMN YOU LORD …DAMN YOUUUUU…oh I see , the sad face was because you’ve been single for 6 hours and need someone to validate your existence, (eh wads e’ fookin on bowt?) well no worries I’m sure some idiot with a hard on will fuck you soon and you can get back to usual : ) maybe a STE…or a KEV or even a DAMO if you’re lucky, after he’s finished selling E’s to school kids…He’s just a bloody good laugh aint he with his steroids and tribal tattoos…LMFAO Damo just taught my kid how to call me a fucking bitch…LMFAO Damo just farted in my face and it stinks…LMFAO Damo’s off to prison for a bit…oh sad face : (

Facebook also gives a chance to dull people to suddenly become sexy and flirtatious. It’s real simple all you need to do is say something bland and put a winky tongue face just after it. ‘Just nipped to the shop to buy some butter ; o p’. Oh really that must be really risqué and erotic, my imagination is running wild, it’s filthy, thinking of spreading that butter over someone’s tits and watching it melt in, standing there over them with phallus in hand, saliva dripping from your mouth, looking down on your buttery treat, slick with passion, licking your lips waiting to tuck in to your love crumpet…oh that’s not it? You just went to the shop and that was the end of the story?…Oh I see…well that’s pretty sexy? ; p cheeky cheeky. Well that’s cool it doesn’t matter that you have no personality or any interesting qualities, if you just put a winky tongue face after every statement then that’s just fine. Maybe you should add some comedy to your words as well…not by being funny, but just by adding ‘lol’ after everything you say to imply that it was some piece of sharp comedic wit…"Hia u ok lol wuu2 lol, not much lol just staring at the screen with my emotionless, inanimate face lol."

LOL LOL oh how we all laughed, how we all laughed at the thing that wasn’t funny. Sometimes we laugh too hard, sometimes we LMFAO…we literally laugh our fucking arses off and need to go to hospital to have our own arse’s grafted back on to our bodies with a series of lengthy and agonising operations that leave us unable to sit down for years after. Oh what comedy there was to be had…when that person said something that wouldn’t even warrant acknowledgement in real life and our arses were ripped from our own bodies in a cruel twist of fate brought on by our psychotic laughter...HAHAHAHAHAHAHRGHHHHHH or maybe we ROFL, we literally roll around on the floor laughing, it doesn’t matter where, maybe you check facebook on your phone whilst walking through the bad part of town and you read something so funny, so incredibly funny that you are forced to get down on the floor and roll around in broken glass, used condom, dog faeces and syringes…it was all worth it for the laughter though TEEEHEHEHEEEE…ROFL just got a used needle stuck in my arse which I just had grafted back on after previously laughing it off : ( It’s good to laugh.

We don’t just laugh though we get to like things as well. We can like anything we want, it’s that simple. Why have opinions on anything when you can just like something instead? You can like naked cuddles in bed? You can like that awkward moment when BLAH BLAH BLAH WHO GIVES A FUCKING SHIT. You can like things that are thought up by illiterate idiots to give some kind of meaning to their lives and in turn by getting other people to like them you can feel like you’re part of some special group and accepted by society…LOL I like that time when err… lol when yer gran does sumat mental LOL when err that awkward moment when err LOL haha yeah when err you cuddle naked in bed LOL you know err…I like Michael Macintyre lol….err and Chris Moyles LOL he’s well funny, when they’re both cuddling naked in bed telling their jokes LOL that awkward moment when Macintyre and Moyles brush cocks LOL and then they start kissing LOL and yeh my gran's mental LOL yeh she is but err you know THAT AWKWARD MOMENT when HAHAHA oh yeah when errr yeah YOU BROKE MY HEART I WILL LOVE YOU FOREVERRR… LIKE… I’M DESPERATE…LIKE… I HAVE NO SELF RESPECT BECAUSE ALL MY VALUES CAME FROM WATCHING TWILIGHT…LOL INT THAT WEARWOLF FIT LOL…PROPA NICE PECS LOLZ….LIKE…LIKE… GIVE ME SOMETHING TO LIKE…I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO THINK UNLESS SOMEONE ELSE GIVES ME AN OPTION OF LIKING IT…I’M SAT HERE IN MY OWN URINE JUST WAITING TILL SOMETHING ELSE POPS UP ON THE SCREEN FOR ME TO LIKE SO I CAN MAKE SOME KIND OF DECISION BASED ON WHAT POPULAR CULTURE TELLS ME TO DO…LIKE LIKE…I LIKE IT WHEN ERR…DUDE…DUDE… DUDE the awkward moment when your gran and err and Chris Moyles and err…and naked cuddles in bed and err...my hearts broken…you'll never find anyone like me...like...like err what if I don’t like this? Oh I don’t have an option…just like it…oh ok …I like it when you were... I don’t know, doing something whacky probably, yeah I liked that…oh yeah and something to do with COD yeah what else is popular erm…like…I like water…that’s pretty cool, keeps me alive and stuff…maybe air would be another…I like air….what else?…Other than water and air, erm biscuits are ok, do other people like biscuits? Would it help if I started a group then maybe we could find some common ground? I like whatever you do, that’s just the kind of guy I am. (Having said all this you can officially like Joe Luka on facebook if you want to do something worthwhile so err…you get goin’ now pal….LIKE…LIKE…LIKE…LIKE…LIKE…FUCKING LIKEY LIKE LIKE LIKE…yeah…cool.)

That’s not all though, facebook has become a place where we can all express and share our love. Imagine it, that day when after 20 years of living your pathetic existence you finally manage to convince a girl to spend more than a few hours with you. You manage to brainwash her in to thinking that maybe…maybe this guy isn’t a dick? Maybe he’s a pretty good guy, just misunderstood? Yeah that’s it I can change him, I can make him in to a reasonable member of society who doesn’t try to set his penis on fire for a laugh and who has never eaten currency to prove some kind of point. Well facebook allows you to showcase your romance with the relationship status…are you IN A RELATIONSHIP...or is it …COMPLICATED…you know maybe the family dog started licking your balls while you were sleeping and you got turned on unintentionally but you know deep down that in your subconscious that maybe you actually enjoyed it when the dog performed oral sex on you…but at the same time it is a family pet after all and you grew up together, so the dog’s more of a brother really so now it’s getting all blown up in your head that you’re having an incestuous relationship with the family pet…you know…maybe that’s complicated?

..But anyway…YEAH…a relationship…Joey Luka is in a relationship with (woman with bad taste in men). That’s all well and good, so happy, this wonderful whirlwind romance, oh how we laughed LOL LOL the wine, remember the wine? The lambrini on the public bench outside the bus station? Yes those were the days. OH but God forbid, what if this magical relationship doesn’t work out? Maybe it wasn’t meant to be after all? Where is the wine now? Where is it? It’s not me it’s you…you branded her elderly father a faggot because he couldn’t beat you in a drunken fist fight at Sunday lunch. That’s ok I’ll get over it in time, just as long as I have some time to myself you know, a little privacy. I don’t want everyone knowing straight away, I’ll just change my relationship status though so I don’t have to be reminded of my lost love, no one will notice anyway.

JOE LUKA IS NOW SINGLE

What…WHAT? Why did you do that facebook? Why did you take advantage of our friendship and publish the single most crushing moment of my life for the world to see? You shoved me to the ground facebook…you rubbed my face in the dog dirt and you mocked my heartbreak and gave people the option to LIKE it. Sniggering at me as I sob in the corner…but…but I thought we were friends? Then it gets better, you finally get over this devastating event, you know you finally get your life back on track. You’re feeling good again, it’s been a year or so since and you’re a changed man. Yeah well that’s what you think pal but facebook has other ideas because it’s got a brand new feature where it shows you old statuses. Yeah what was old Joey Luka saying on this day exactly one year ago? What was ol’ Joey Luka up to way back then…well…why not have a little look eyyy?

‘JUST BEEN DUMPED, I FEEL SICK : (‘

eeeheheheherghhh….ehehehegghhh what a pussy…ahhhhh I bet you was a WHEEPIN’ BOYYYY…A WHEEEEEPINNNNNNN….WHEEEPINNN OVER YOUR LOST LOVE JOEY HEHEHEHEHEHHEHERHGHHH YOU PUSSY….LOOK AT THIS LADS…OL’ JOEY LUKA HERE, FELT ILL HE SAYS, LOVESICK…BOOKED IN TO THE HEARTBREAK HOTEL EHHEHHERHGHHH COME ON EVERYONE LETS GATHER ROUND HIM…COME ON IN A CIRCLE NOW…EVERYONE READY…LET’S GET A CHANT GOING…….shhhhh…wait for it… come on now…

…cry

…cry

…….cry

…CRY…CRY…CRY…CRY…CRY CRYYYYYY

Oh man he’s sobbing like a child, this is a bloody good laugh, make sure we all gather round for the 2 years anniversary of his heartbreak yeah? Same time next year, don’t worry we’ll notify you all on facebook it’s ok, nah he’s fine just give him a towel to mop his tears…soft bastard.

…but it’s not just my heartbreak that facebook cares about. When will they draw the line in the sand? Maybe they’ll feel the need to not only share my fractured relationships with the world but other private matters as well. Who cares eh, it’s all about the page views; let’s see what misery we can squeeze out of the bastard now.

JOE LUKA’S GRANDAD IS NOW IN HIS COLD SHALLOW GRAVE ROTTING SLOWLY.

Oh thanks facebook

JOE LUKA HAS A SMALL PENIS AND IS SHIT IN BED.

Oh well that was uncalled for now


But other than the disturbing attitude towards privacy it’s a pretty fun place right?

Good old status updates, yeah they’re a lot of fun, if there’s one thing I want more of it is hearing the views and opinions of people I moderately dislike but not enough to delete them off my friends list, grasping on to some flimsy sense of popularity. Maybe it’s not so bad, keeping in touch with your friends though, keeping them updated as to what’s going on with your life. Hey Joey Luka is off flying his kite again in the field. Joey Luka is helping an old dear to cross the road with her shopping bags. Joey Luka is begging for a job at Poundland and offering to work 60 hours shifts for free…that’s cool.

But what’s not cool is people abusing these statuses. People who in fact decide to use their status as some greasy tool to try and grab your sympathy…to get you to say things like… AWWWW YOU POOR THING...POOR YOU…POOR POOOOOR YOU : ( : (

...well it’s not gonna happen pal.

If there’s one thing I dislike it’s sympathy for my fellow man. Nothing makes Joey Luka more sick than watching a bunch of chumps sad facing me and trying to make me feel emotion…trying to make me feel PITY of all things. Oh no none of that, I’ll drink your tears boy. You post one of your self pitying updates and I’ll drag you out of the house, kicking and screaming in your undies, I’ll strip them down around your ankles and I’ll bend you over on the lawn, smothering your sobs with my filthy hand, reeking of cider. Oh yeah boy let’s hear you cry now because you know where this is going…oh yeah that’s right…Joey Luka is going to go prison style on you right here right now, not because he’s in to that kind of thing, simply to prove that he can. That’s right HOWLLL...HOWLLLL…HOWWWLLLLLLLLLL…I’M GONNA HAVE MY WAY WITH YOU…THEN FEED YOU A PLATTER OF KNUCKLE PIES…THIS IS KNUCKLE SUPPER...AND YOU’RE GOING TO EAT EVERY LAST…ONE...OF…THEM.

Nah of course not, I would never condone raping and assaulting a person as a reasonable reaction to them posting an irritating status. Instead just simply stare at the screen, burning with low key hostility, thinking of cutting replies that you could send back, which you never do obviously, but it’s the thought that counts.

WAHH WAHH WHY WILL NO ONE LOVE ME...IM THINKING OF HER.…WHERE IS SHE??? <3<3<3...WHAT WENT WRONG? DON’T TALK TO ME...NO...NO...DONT SPEAK TO ME IM TOO UPSET.

I wont speak to you pal, I had no intentions of speaking to you anyway so no need to highlight this fact. Now stop feeling sorry for yourself because this is why your woman left...because you’re a fat useless pussy and if you don’t want anyone to talk to you then SIGN OFF facebook since that’s the whole purpose of it…TO INTERACT WITH OTHER PEOPLE YOU FAT PUSSY...PUSSY…YOU PUSSY...ARGHH…I WANT TO WATCH YOU BLEED…ARGHHH…woah woah woah…cool it…way too much sodomy in these blogs. Anyways I’ll mind my own business and you go and sit in your bed masturbating over Japanese cartoons and crying into your pink sausage like fingers and stay out of my way…or I will give you something to cry about...oh yes I will brother

But hey we all have problems?

Luckily facebook is here to help...to help… with a little help from your friends…we get by…with a little help… from our friends.

Now baring that in mind facebook wants us to make more friends, they’re just so bloody generous. That’s why they invented the ‘people you may know’ tool. What a brilliant idea, we can get in touch with all those fabulous people we may have lost contact with in the past. They can all come flooding back in to our lives, gathering in the clear blue ocean of friendship.

But sadly it doesn’t always work out like that does it pal, especially when the people facebook recommends aren’t quite the wonderful people we want back in our lives. In fact most of these people are the slow witted, idiots you purposely left behind at school and even the thought of seeing their grinning faces makes you sick to your stomach. Now facebook decides to drag them all back into your life, sweating away like some never ending school reunion, wanting to reminisce about the old days when they used to try and fart on you in P.E. because it was so very…very funny.

Yeah good stuff. That’s not all though; sometimes they like to take it a step further. Like when facebook recommended some chap to be my friend, he looked so familiar but I couldn’t quite put my finger on where I knew him from?

Who is this guy? A long forgotten school chum maybe? A boyhood pal? Maybe we met long ago at a poetry reading, or perhaps a basket weaving class?

Yes I’m thinking now, thinking away, who is he? OH…I know. It’s some rat faced chav I had a drunken brawl with years ago. Well thanks for that facebook, I didn’t realise this was the ‘people you may know and have punched in the face tool’ but I am truly grateful that you brought us back together? Maybe we can celebrate the three year anniversary of having a pissed up fist fight outside JJB sports…memoriesssssss.

Sadly this is all we have time for tonight, I’ve briefly ran out of blind hatred so need to take a break. I'm sure I’ll be back for more, who cares if anyone’s reading? I’ll just talk to myself HAHA…HAHA…LOL…LOL…LOL…yeah see you in hell.

Lukat.

Showbiz.

Alright you peckers, you puffs, you smug mouth breathing freaks? I haven’t written a blog in a while, since I have fuck all to talk about anymore. I could offer excuses that I’ve been busy but we all know that’s not true so instead I’ll just say it’s because I couldn’t be arsed. Got a problem with that bud? We can throw down right now if there’s a problem here? We can go outside and have a quiet word, so quiet that you have to ask me to repeat what I said, further angering me. This situation is progressing isn’t it? Then maybe I’ll make nonsensical statements that have no logic and when you question them I’ll say ‘CALLIN ME A LIAR PAL…CALLING ME A LIARRRR???? CUMMON EN’. As is the usual procedure for any conversation undertaken in the streets of Burnley. So yeah...no blog…mate.

Luckily I noticed that a new series of celebrity big brother has started on channel 5, a channel exclusively for intellectuals. So this got me thinking about celebrities, a great bunch of lads aren’t they? I mean they’re like us but better? Better because they’re on the telly, doing various things like eating monkey testicles and having enemas live on air just to get noticed. It’s brilliant really if you think about it, I mean you don’t even have to be any good at anything to be a celebrity now. It’s not like you need any actual skills or talent, you can just be a famous personality, like that little arsewhipe Jeff Brazier, who is pretty much famous because he shagged Jade Goody (God bless her soul). Which to be fair was a brave and courageous act, he’s a bigger man than me (not literally, the cheeky wee bastard) for doing that but still, should someone make a lot of money and be forced in to our homes on a daily basis, simply because one time they shagged Jade Goody? I’m not so sure but if this is the way to become successful then I think Fizz off Coronation Street better lock her door tonight because Lukat's a comin’ and he’s going to huff and puff and blow your fucking house down then make dirty love to you in the rubble, grasping your curly ginger locks like the reigns of a mighty steed YEEHAWWWW.

So anyways, Celebrity Big Brother? Seems like an interesting premise, a bunch of high profile superstars locked in a house together for a few weeks. I wonder what kind of antics they’ll get up to? No doubt having many profound conversations and creating moments of surreal entertainment? Who’s in it? Bono? Mick Jagger? Al Pacino?

Nah mate…nah…Jedward's in it though.

Oh…oh ok…well erm…Jedward…that’s pretty cool. Who else? Is Mike Tyson in there? Is David Beckham in there? What about Nelson Mandela?

Nah mate …Kerry Katona is though.

Who?

You know Kerry Katona, she did the Iceland adverts.

Oh right what did she do before that?

Erm, I think she did coke for a bit.

Oh

Well the charming and gorgeous, Kerry Katona is well worth the price of admission; She is all that is beautiful about woman. I assume she’s doing this to get her life back on track…good thinking, ‘People have an unflattering view of me so I’ll sort that out by sprawling my grotesque frame out on national television, then people can see me as the hideous, stupid trollop I really am…seeking some hollow adoration from the general public… LOOK AT ME…PLEASE…LOOK AT ME…I’M A CELEBRITY…LOVE ME…LOVE MEEEEE.’

Well that all sounds bloody fantastic…what do you expect though, the last time I actually watched the thing, Michael Barrymore was accepted back on national television as some kind of funny man…THIS Michael Barrymore that fisted a man to death and hurled his corpse in the swimming pool after a night of heavy partying (all speculation)…but hey no worries…that’s cool…he’s back now and he’s sorted his life out, it’s all fine now…fisted a man to death (all speculation)…well these things happen…I mean someone has to get fisted to death every so often, he wasn’t a celeb so who gives a shit.

So once you put a gentleman who in the past has FISTED A MAN TO DEATH (all speculation)…yes I’m going to keep repeating that phrase FISTED A MAN TO DEATH because I enjoy it, whether the evidence is damning or not, I guess anything goes. This time on celebrity big brother…

We are waiting the next contestant in the big brother house; I mean can it get any bigger than Jedward? Here comes the limo now, it’s…it’s…it’s HITLER’S SKELETON…YES HITLER’S SKELETON IS IN THE BIG BROTHER HOUSE. This is amazing, the Fuhrer himself is here, in decayed form, I imagine he wants to put aside the whole holocaust business and showcase his more laid back skeletal side. Hitler’s Skeleton is actually here, being wheeled out by the cheeky girls in full Nazi dress…and aren’t they looking lovely, this is what showbiz is all about. Hitler was last seen ordering the organized slaughter of thousands of people to create his Arian super race but we haven’t seen much of him since, being dead and all, he’s just a bag of bones. Expect sparks to fly, probably the biggest celeb we’ve had in the big brother house since Vanessa Feltz, the skeleton of the most evil man in the history of the universe is here, will there be romance with Kerry Katona? I can not wait.

While Hitler’s bones are being hoisted up the stairs to chat with Brian Dowling we await the next contestant.

Who’s next I am literally shaking with excitement, can this outdo Jedward, Kerry Katona and the Fuhrer's bones?

Who is it…OH MY GOD…IT’S GARRY GLITTER? Listen to the boo’s from this crowd. The world’s most famous paedophile is here and he is back, this is Glitter the comeback, the comeback tour...the king of rock and roll. Look at him working the crowd, stroking his satanic beard; literally thrusting his way past this baying crowd in his platform shoes and metallic jumpsuit, the glam rock prince is back. This crowd is going wild, total frenzy, we haven’t seen Garry in some time, having shipped him to Cambodia to save the future generations of our species from his psycho sexual, glam rock sex offences but he is back and better than ever. Look Glitter just stole a child’s lolly pop and is sucking it seductively, this is MUST SEE TV. Will the public warm to glitters charm? We all love a comeback story, can Glitter redeem himself for past crimes and molest the hearts of the general public. Can you hear that tribal drumbeat, what a performer dum da dum dum da dum NAHHH NAHH NAHH NAHH...HEYYYYYY. Look at him go GARRY GARRY CAN WE HAVE A WORD WITH YOU GARRY? WILL YOU BE RELEASING A BEST OF ALBUM?

“HEHEHERGHHH why hellooo, anything for you treacle HAHAHAHHHARGHHHH”

Garry you are looking fabulous it’s so good to see you here, the last time we saw you in the newspapers you had much less hair, can you tell us is this a toupee or transplant?

“HEHEHEHRGHHH well Treacle Channel 5 are paying me a substantial amount of money to be here so I thought why not invest in a luxurious piece of head fabric, a man must look his best, when in Rome HEHEHEHEHRHGHH.”

Great stuff Garry, can you tell us why you agreed to be here, obviously there is some controversy with you being a sinister paedophile? Also Jedward are in the house, will there be any interest there?

“HEHEHEHEHRGH well treacle, Jedward are a lovely bunch of boys, lovely, lovely pure virgin flowers, with their soft blonde hairs dancing upon their delicate flesh, like sweet, sweet honey candy… but who knows. I want to put all that behind me, we all make mistakes do we not? Sure in the past I may have had an acquired taste for young boys but I want to put that right HAHAHRHGHGHGHGH I want to be remembered as the true performer I am, I’M THE KING OF ROCK N ROWLLLLLLLL…HEY HEY HEY.”

That’s great to hear Garry, so glad you’re back, we wish you all the best.

As Garry levitates up the stairs, his pot belly bursting out from his shiny one piece, we wait in awe for the next celebrity.

WE HAVE THE YORKSHIRE RIPPER…PETER SUTCLIFFE…one of the most famous serial killers in recent memory is here…the bearded murderer himself, we got him out of prison just for the show…sure he brutally killed a load of innocent women but this is the entertainment business and he’s here. THIS IS SHOWBIZZZZZZZ. Who knows what will happen? Kerry Katona better watch her back, will drama unfold as Peter tries to stab her to death in the diary room? Are the public ready to forgive him? Who is more evil, Glitter, the Yorkshire ripper, Hitler’s bones…or Kerry Katona? Only you the public can decide. MUST SEE …MUST SEE. This is amazing, look at his wild eyes scanning over the women of the crowd, saliva dripping from his animal lips in to his filthy beard. Oh dear Peter is having to be restrained by the Big Brother security…GET HIS HANDS OFF HER NECK…COME ON…WE’RE LIVE ON AIR…oh it’s ok Peter has calmed down now, PETER, PETER CAN WE GET A FEW WORDS..

“WARHGHGH WHAT YA FOOKIN WANT YA CUNT ...CUNT CUNT...I’LL FOOKIN KILL YER…ARGHHRARGHHHHH.”

What a character hahahaarrrr, great to hear from you Peter

Here comes the final celebrity, this is shaping up to be the most explosive Celebrity Big Brother yet.

Ok he’s getting out of the limo…who is it…who is that seriously? OH IT’S JORDIE CHANDLER. Some of you may remember Jordie from the early 90’s where he claimed he was molested by the legendary Michael Jackson. Of course Jordie is a grown man now, we will get word from him in a moment as he slumps past the baying crowd…listen to those boo’s, there are a lot of diehard Jacko fans here tonight, Jordie is receiving a hostile welcome, even more hostile than the breath taking Glitter entrance. JORDIE…JORDIE

Can we get a few words, where have you been Jordie? We haven’t heard from you in a long time? Tell us everything Jordie?

“Well you know I just wanted to show people there’s more to me than being allegedly molested by the prince of pop. Sure there was the Jesus juice and the high profile law suit but there’s so much more to Jordie Chandler…I mean there’s Jordie Chandler the poet…the musician…Jordie chandler the artist…Jordie chandler the …”

OK great to hear from you Jordie; glad to see you’ve recovered from the alleged molestation, I’m sure you have many Jacko based stories to entertain the house with?

“Oh well I’m not really allowed to talk about him, we reached an out of court settlement…”

Oh…right…well err…CAN WE REPLACE THIS GUY? NAH NAH HE CAN’T TALK ABOUT IT? NAH WHO HAVE WE GOT AS A REPLACEMENT…WHAT…OH GARETH GATES IS HERE?…OK SEND HIM IN...nice one…

Day 5 in the Big Brother house:

Romance is blossoming between the Yorkshire ripper and Kerry Katona, will this cause fireworks in the house after her initial fling with Hitler’s bones? Glitter is still trying to coerce Jedward in to sitting on his lap…this is brilliant stuff

Day 12 in the Big Brother house:

Peter has flown in to a psychotic rage after discovering Kerry has rekindled her romance with Hitler, fingering herself with Hitler’s shin bone, shinning herself silly. Security is currently trying to calm him down...PUT DOWN THE BOTTLE PETER…SHE’S NOT WORTH IT ...CALM DOWNNN.

Day 14; Peter has slaughtered Kerry Katona live on air…can we send in a replacement? Is Jodie Marsh still free? O.k. send her in again.

This is SHOWBIZZZZZZZZ.

But not all celebrities are attention grabbing whores, desperately trying to cling on to the last scraps of fame by literally doing anything to remain slightly relevant, no matter how pathetic or degrading it is.

There are good celebrities, celebrities who are here to help, like Peter Andre? Of such great programmes as ‘Peter Andre- the next chapter’. I myself didn’t get chance to read the first chapter but I’m sure the next chapter is even better. Well Peter has a new show on ITV2 (great channel), ‘Peter Andre-Here to help’.

An exciting premise where Peter gives back to ‘the great British public’, who have supported him for so long. I’m not sure I’m familiar with this public; I’m more familiar with the slow witted, fickle, sheep like public, slowly dithering towards their dull demise…but anyway.

Yes each week Peter lends out his Jesus like hand to someone who is in need; of course he’s not allowed to use any of his own money for this. Oh I see, but why is that Peter? Oh it’s the rules you say, the rules of the television programme that someone made up, to make it more entertaining. So you’re actually here to help, as long as it’s entertaining, as long as it fits in with the time limit and as long as it showcases you as the modern day Jesus you really are? Well that all sounds above board to me, Peter Andre is here to help…his faltering career...by helping you...the working class scum…as long as it doesn’t cost him anything…and as long as it gets him on ITV2? I mean some cynics might say that if you really wanted to help people you wouldn’t feel the need to draw attention to it by making it in to some kind of cheap, tacky exploitation of vulnerable people’s problems, so we can see Peter Andre showing what a great guy he is? Cynics might say that…they might, not me though, I love all of ITV2’s programming.

This week Peter helps a young parent with a terminally ill child.

Oh Peter I’m so glad you’re here, little Bobby can’t wait to meet you, he’s not been well at all, it will be a real lift for him.

“Ah gudday mayt thads awl well and gud but bedda wait til tha cameras awrr rowllinnn' Sheila…can we gedda ta say thada again?”

Oh peter I know the rules of the show say you can’t use any of your own money but please, just while it’s me and you, Bobby needs an operation and we’re a thousand pounds short. I would never usually ask this but since you’re here to help, it could save his life.

“Well thads awl well and gud Sheila bud oiy downt make tha rules luv. Ya know how id is, itv2 say I carnt use any of mi munney, maybe liddle Bobby wud loik ta meet Donny Osmond instead, thatd cheer the liddle fella roight up ey Sheila? Donny Bluddy Osmond?”

B-b-b-but peter…he’s dying Peter; he doesn’t know who Donny Osmond is? Please Peter we know the show has rules and we respect that but if you could just do this off camera, out of the kindness of your own heart…HE’S DYING PETER...MY BABY BOY IS DYING?

“Look eyr Sheila I hear ya pain but I’m a celebridy, if the cameras aint rowlin then how are people ta know whada bluddy good guy oy am ey? Now save yer tears luv, this is showbiz, CAN WE GET THOSE CAMERAS ROWLIN, GEDDER TEARS ON CAMERA WILL YA? HAVE ME COMFORTIN HER A LIDDLE; MAKE ME LOOK LIKE A BLUDDY GREAT GOIYYYYY.”

SHOWBIZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ.

Well that’s just wonderful, of course peter Andre isn’t a heartless, murderer, he’s a bloody great guy. Maybe one day I can be half the man that Peter Andre is, one fine day. You don’t get that for free though, nothing comes for free in this world, so I’m just off to expose myself in a shopping centre, you know, to get some attention. Please like me? Come on mate please like me? I’ll do anything if you like me? Look I don’t need any beliefs or dignity or my own thoughts I’ll just dance for you…look I’m doing a funny jig, look I’m snorting coke off a toilet seat…look please…give me some attention, recognise me…come on it’s me mate…don’t you recognise me? It’s me off the telly?...LOVE ME…PLEASE...LOVE ME….LOVE MEEEEEEEEEE.

Anyway that’s all for this week, I’m glad we could share this time together.

Lukat.

Fun, fun, fun...and then some.

Alright you bunch of no marks. So I finally get another job interview after several months of waiting. Some big business, chump realises that Joey Luka has a lot of promise, even if his C.V. is filled with fictional work rather than actual on the job experience. Some nobody thinks ey…this Joey Luka guy is real sharp…real on the ball… You get a guy like that in the company and the opposition goes running to the hills, screaming like a lil’ girly girl. They say Lukat…Lukat baby you could do customer services couldn’t you? You’re a charming bubbly character and you like the general public? I say sure I love em’ they’re a great bunch of lads, with their ill informed opinions, tiny minds and disgusting, dull, irrelevant personalities...whining on and on and on about their pathetic little lives, calling me on the phone WAHH WAHH WAHHH fix this for me Lukat, fix that, please champ we need you, please…please…pweaseeee…FUCK OFF…fuck right off pal. I’d rather leave you to perish in the fires of hell than take a second to piss on you and save your miserable existence, to soften the blow for your loved ones, to give you some kind of bleak future in which to ‘make your dreams come true’. No I won’t piss on you even though I do really need to urinate right now…even though this very second I am in desperate need for the toilet and it would probably help us both out and be a hell of a lot easier if I just urinated on you to put out the flames…well no I’m not going to do that pal because I’d rather watch you burn and die...I’d rather see the tears of your loved ones, I’d rather lick their tragic faces and taste the salt of their agony as you turn to ashes, burning away because I wouldn’t piss on you…YOU FUCKER…FUCKER..I’LL KILL YOU FUCK HEAD…I WANT TO WATCH YOU DIEEEEEE…anyway pal sorry what was your call about?

Yeah so anyways I get an interview, that’s basically the gist of it. So I turn up to this industrial estate in the middle of nowhere. I strut on down in the pouring rain, massive holes embedded in the concrete as though bombs had been dropped on the place. Vicious looking dogs chained to a fence guarding the premises and some gruff polish chaps standing about loading vans…excuse me good sir…could you point me in the direction of the ‘technology centre’? I assume it’s some kind of futuristic building, probably built by some genius of architecture with radical modernist views? Maybe I will be transported to the interview room via a complex laser system developed by the best scientists in the world perhaps? BEHOLD TECHNOLOGY IN ALL ITS GLORY.

‘Yeh err…it’s down there pal’.

Oh I see just down here is it? In this dark corner of urban decay? Oh I see it’s this building, this grim looking structure, worn and grey, housing the tortured souls of minimum wage employment? This is the technology centre? I understand, a truly fitting name it is friend.

Yeah anyway enough of the shit, enough of the mincing around with my fancy words, ooh he thinks he’s well clever don’t he? Smug bastard, posting his little blogs, at the tax payers expense, we’re paying for him to bloody write these blogs, bloody tax payers expense pal, paying for him to have kids, bloody coming over here…Joey Luka…on his bloody banana boat…stealing our jobs…our bloody jobs…at the technology centre, the state of the art technology centre…bloody stealing our minimum wage telesales job…bloody Lukat…stealing our bloody jobs…on his banana boats...with his foreign bloody name…bloody Joey Luka…bloody Lukat…probably from Greece or turkey…Istanbul maybe…coming over here stinking of curry…stealing our jobs the bloody bastard…at the bloody technology centre…

Where was I? Oh yeah I had to turn the job down since it would actually have COST me more money than it would of made me, which is what you want really. It’s a great package; I’m just a work shy idiot for turning it down, a fucking pussy, wasting the chance of a life time. Can I just get this fantastic opportunity in writing please though? Could you sell it to me good sir, I know I should be grateful to even clean your shoes, a lowly graduate like me, but sir pretty please could you sell this job for me mate…please mate…convince me…I’ll suck your thumb like a baby...GAH GAH GOO GOO WAHH WAHHHH PLEASE MATE…PLEASE….PLEASEEE?

“Well you see Joey here’s the setup, here’s how this thing goes down. You get to work for 40 hours a week, in this horrible little call centre, hassling old dears on the phone for their supper money, hassle them till all their moneys gone Joey, trick them if you have to, the senile old bitches. Yeah steal their retirement money Joey, out of house and home, it’s all sell sell sell mate, steal their ceramic bulldog ornaments, their deceased husband’s war medals, he was a hero Joey but that don’t matter, it’s all about the sell...you’re being paid on commission here Joey you gotta sell...this is commerce, you steal the old fuckers money and you get your minimum wage…real nice deal Joey.”

Well this sounds great, I mean is that the whole package? I’d be a fool to turn it down.

“Well you see Joey there are a few minor details we need to put out there, you know how it is, the small print. You see we can pay you minimum wage, hassling these old dears on the phone for 40 hours a week...yeh we can do that Joey but we aint going to pay you for the first two weeks. Nah you understand Joey, a piece of useless scum like you, we can’t trust you talking to people over the phone so we aint going to pay you for the first two weeks. Yeah I know you have to get the train over here an hour and 15 minutes early every day and that may well set you back £30-40 a week but hey…this is commerce, we can’t afford to pay an idiot like you straight up, so to be fair this job will actually cost you far more money than you’d ever make. That’s a good deal right Joey? Paying to work here, travelling over 2 hours a day to work here, that’s a good deal right bud? Of course there is no guaranteed job at the end of this either mate, I mean we could well just use you for slave labour for 2 weeks then tell you to fuck off, but it’s a foot in the door bud, a real opportunity. Now could you just kneel down here next to me Joey, now could you just pop this in your mouth? That’s right Joey, it’s another opportunity for you Joey. That’s right you suck the big boss man off…but Joey where are you going now? You have to pay for that pal, that wasn’t for free, empty your pockets. Nah you see what you did there bud? You thought that you were doing a job for me in exchange for money, but in actual fact I was offering you an opportunity there bud to better yourself, and those don’t come cheap. So come on we’ll go to a cash machine right now and get the money out. Yeah that’s good mate you can put that on your C.V., now get your long train home in the rain pal. See you bright and early tomorrow mate….TA TA.

Yeah so basically I didn’t take the job and I’m still unemployed. Cool.

So anyway this got me thinking, is my life actually this pathetic, or am I involved in some kind of sinister Truman show style plot? Some source of entertainment, designed for the sole purpose of giving the general public something to have a good laugh at. It all makes perfect sense now, no one could possibly be this pathetic, I mean there would be some give, there would be some end to the daily humiliation? This leads me to believe that there is something far bigger going on here. Some need to keep me unemployed, some higher purpose to degrade me on a daily basis to gain humour from my futile existence?

Then it came to me. I’m just part of some terrible Itv2 reality show aint I? Most likely presented by some fat idiot like…I don’t know, just off the top of my head…erm…James Corden. You know…presented by some fat, useless, untalented idiot…like erm…just off the top of my head…erm…James Corden…you know some cheap, tacky reality show, presented by…erm…just off the top of my head…erm…someone who would be FAT…and erm…USELESS…and erm…UNTALENTED…erm…someone like, just off the top of my head, maybe someone like erm...like James Corden? Pandering to the public, forcing them to suckle on his bitch tits, making them believe that he is some way funny, or likeable or even witty, fooling them because he’s on television. Look, he’s on the TV, they say he’s a comedian therefore he must be funny.

HAHAH…HAHAHAHAHHAHA.HHAHAHAHAHHAHA…no.

So yeah anyway my miserable life is just the subject of a terrible Itv2, daytime reality show, probably with some uncreative title like ‘Joey Loser’.

THIS WEEK…ON JOEY LOSER…

Joey heads to town in search of love. He can’t afford any of the damaged lynx Africa from B&M bargains anymore so he just shoves some urinal cakes in his pockets. He’s run out of tooth paste this week, so instead just scrubs his mouth out with the soap from a public toilet and hopes for the best. Joey Loser can’t afford any decent clothes so he roots around in the attic for his knackered, old school shoes and his dead grandfather’s suit. There is no stopping this guy. Joey sets off walking to town since he can’t afford the bus and arrives 2 hours later, sweating and flustered. He storms through the doors a man on a mission, quickly dries the sweat patches from his suit with the hand dryer then gets to work on his romantic adventure. Our hero spies some fat chicks in the corner of Whetherspoons so heads over ready to charm the massive pants off them…

‘ALRIGHT BABES HAHA ALRIGHT BABES HAHA YOU COME HERE OFTEN HAHA, YOU LEGAL YEAH HAHA? YOU FANCY A DRINK BABES HAHA YEAH, AH SHIT I DON’T HAVE MUCH MONEY BABES WILL A GLASS OF TAPWATER BE OK, STILL A DRINK AINT IT, A NICE COOL GLASS OF TAPPY THAT ORIGHT YEAH COOL COOL HAHA MIGHT TREAT MYSELF TO ONE OF EM HAHA, BARKEEP A GLASS OF TAPPY PLEASE MY GOOD MAN, MAKE THAT TWO GLASSES OF TAPPY I’M FEELING IT TONIGHT BUD. HAHA SO BABES WHAT YOU DOING AFTER THIS EH YOU SHOULD COME BACK TO MINE HAHA I LIVE WITH MY MUM HAHA BUT SHE’S OUT AT WORK HAHA I’M ON THE DOLE MYSELF SO I DON’T HAVE A JOB AS SUCH BUT THAT GIVES ME PLENTY OF TIME FOR MY HOBBIES HAHA LIKE MAKING SINISTER KEYBOARD MUSIC AND CHRONIC MASTURBATION HAHA HAHA COME ON BABES MY MUMS NOT IN HAHA COME ON I’VE GOT A RUBBER JOHNNY IN MY POCKET HAHA, IT EXPIRED IN 2010 BUT IT SHOULD BE REYT HAHA AINT HAD A SHAG IN A WHILE HAHA ONLY A RUBBER AINT IT LOVE HAHA NO WORRIES HAHA COME ON BABES…PLEASE….PLEASE…PLEASE TOUCH MY PECKER…

The furious chubster spits in poor Joey’s face and he’s ushered out by the bouncers, thrown out in to the harsh streets, he picks himself up, nose bloodied and brushes the dirt from his ancient suit. Things are looking grim so he decides maybe a trip to the local strip club will cheer him up. Surely those birds can’t turn him down, it’s their job to pretend to like losers, he still has some spare change in his pocket. Business is picking up. He sneaks in through the door, eyes glowing in excitement of his erotic master plan. Out comes some hard faced, orange slapper, gyrating in her G-string, requesting a tenner for her troubles.

‘ERE THE THING IS BABES HAHA, THE THING IS RIGHT I DON’T REALLY HAVE A TENNER ON ME HAHA I MEAN I’VE GOT SOME CASH LIKE HAHA IF YOU JUST LET ME COUNT IT OUT HAHA THERE MIGHT BE ENOUGH HERE HAHA JUST BARE WITH ME LOVE ERR HAHA GOT A 5P HERE HAHA ANOTHER TWO 10P’S HAHA AHHHH ERM OH LOOK THERE’S A 20P HERE HAHA A FEW COPPERS HAHA OH ERR ANOTHER 20P HAHA AYE I’VE GOT A BUS TICKET HERE AS WELL IT’S A RETURN TICKET IF THAT’S ANY USE FOR YOU LIKE HAHA YOU COULD GO TO NELSON WITH THIS HAHA THAT’S GOT TO BE WORTH A FEW QUID BABES HAHA IMAGINE ALL THE THINGS YOU COULD DO IN NELSON HAHA AH MAYBE WE COULD GO TOGETHER LOVE? I’D HAVE TO WALK LIKE SINCE YOU’RE USING THE TICKET BUT NO WORRIES LOVE WE COULD JUST MEET UP SOMEWHERE HAHA AH NAH DON’T TELL THE BOUNCERS LOVE I DON’T WANT ANY TROUBLE, MAYBE WE COULD JUST TALK BABES HAHA YOU KNOW I WON’T EVEN HAVE THE LAP DANCE HAHA WE’VE GOT ABOUT £2.45 ALL TOGETHER HERE LOVE THAT’S GOT TO BE WORTH SOMETHING MAYBE WE COULD JUST HAVE A CHAT HAHA, DO YOU HAVE FACEBOOK BABES? OR BEBO? MAYBE YOU COULD JUST SEND ME A TWEET LIKE HAHA A NICE SEXY TWEET THAT’S GOT TO BE WORTH £2.45 LOVE AINT IT HAHA I WISH I COULD GET PAID THAT MUCH FOR A TWEET OH NO LADS NO DON’T HIT ME LADS COME ON LADS PLEASE NO….ARGHHHHHHHHH’.

Joey Loser once again gets flung out in the street, jobseeker forms falling in to a filthy puddle; he decides to call it a night. Joey sets up home next to a pile of wheelie bins and has himself a wee nap, since he has to get up for the dole in a few hours anyway. Looks like things have worked out pretty nicely for ol’ Joey Loser.

Well that’s all for this week lads. I could rant on for a few more thousand words but there’s only so much satirical, bitterness I can dish out in one day. In other news I have just finished the 4^th draft of my first full length novel, ‘Elephant in the Room’ so hoping to send that off to the publishers before the end of the year. Check out any news on my facebook page, become a fan why don’t you.

https://www.facebook.com/pages/Joe-Luka/159140123120?ref=ts

That last part was serious by the way; I know it’s incredibly hard to tell when I’m taking the piss. Keep the faith.

Yours in love and poverty.

Lukat

Hot Vigilante Action.

All the animals come out at night - whores, skunk pussies, buggers, queens, fairies, dopers, junkies, sick, venal. Someday a real rain will come and wash all this scum off the streets. Travis Bickle: (Taxi Driver, 1976)

Alright you festering parasites, you telltale tits, you bunch of seat sniffers, you twerps…you err…you fannies. As you can probably tell I’m all riled up, not my usual laid back self, smoking herbal cigarettes and listening to the Lighthouse Family. Oh no none of that PAL, that’s long gone. I was about to sit down and write a profound blog about an interesting subject like being on the dole or making love to fat chicks but NO…NO…NOW THAT’S NOT GOING TO HAPPEN IS IT? For any of my international readers (which I can only assume that there are many) riots have broken out across the U.K. A bunch of bell ends are currently smashing the country up and ransacking the shelves of Poundland and Aldi…feasting on the bargains with their selfish mouths…salivating over the anarchy as they drench themselves in damaged bottles of lynx Africa and chewing on packets of bizarre tomato sauce flavoured crisps which have long since been discontinued. Well I tell you what, Lukat aint going to stand for it. I’m usually a man of words, the pen being mightier than the sword of course, or in my case typing using only two fingers, very aggressively may I add, rattling away like the mythical falcon that I am. Anyway now is not a time for words but a time for action, so before I leave you all to go and battle these yobs in the street with my bare hands I shall leave you with a blog. So in actual fact I am just offering more words instead of actions but that doesn’t matter, nothing matters…NOTHING. This is the apocalypse, grab your samurai swords and bicycle chains and let’s go do some scum in.

The kids out on the street…they say Lukat, Mr Lukat we need someone to restore order to these shores. We need a man so powerful, so intelligent, and so brave that these thugs will cower in the streets, slinking away with their little willies between their chicken legs. That man is you Lukat; you must go to the city and pound them with your fists of morality. You must stomp in their ears with your Cuban heels, made of finest Italian leather. You must urinate on them, cleansing the evil from their souls with 100% pure Lukat holy water. Oh yes, you’re damn right. I’m aware no kids actually speak like this, but that doesn’t matter, I would never be selfish and let facts get in the way of an entirely fictional story.

Anyone who knows me is well aware of my long term ambitions to take to the streets in vigilante action, combating some sort of apocalyptic uprising. Some even mocked me for keeping a metal baseball bat next to my bed as I sleep in case confronted by criminals during the night but who’s laughing now eh…WHO? WHO’S LAUGHING? Certainly not me, laughter is for the weak.

Now I’m all up for biting a few ears off and furiously pounding on the youth of today but I could well be outnumbered, even though I do have the strength of a thousand men. This will take some careful planning and I may need to employ a crack team of mercenaries to help me on this mission, or maybe just some big lads from the pub. We could have a civil war on our hands right here…a dole civil war…the worst kind. On one side we have these pieces of subhuman scum, stealing and rioting and on the other hand we have us good, old dole boys, who spend our days applying for awful telesales job and surviving off Netto tinned hot dogs. Well we aint going to stand for it, we are men of integrity and terrible bank balances. We’ll ten man walk down there, our arms wide as though carrying carpets, our faces stern and primitive, grunting and drunk off scrumpy, ready to take down these no good looters. We’ll wear chain mail vests and carry bin lids, banging them with steering wheel locks as our war cry. A bunch of stray dogs following us, like our mighty white steeds I shall ride in, literally on the back of a very large Labrador leading the assault. ‘YOU STARTIN’ PAL…YOU FOOKING STARTIN’ EH CUMMON EN’ CUMMON’ PALLLLLLL’.

We’ll battle in the ashes of Primark, misshaped jeans in only XXL sizes and cheap t-shirts with nonsensical slogans litter the ground, ‘Beach valley volleyball inspector 1982’. Choking a scum boy with a gigantic plastic belt with faux cowboy buckle, hearing his impish screams ‘PLEASE…PLEASE…STOP MR LUKA…I’LL STOP LOOTING…THE MATERIAL FEELS SO CHEAP AND BADLY MADE ON MY NECK…ARGHHHHH’. No remorse though, none whatsoever, in the name of great men who built Primark, on the back of hard work and slave labour we will beat the mass produced savings in to their rat like faces.

We’ll stomp in their crime ridden guts in the rubble of Dixon’s. Crushing a yobs skull in a half price mini hi fi system, the cheap plastic severing his head in two. Forcing the scum to download educational material on the laptops and then transfer it to their I-pods, gluing the headphones to their ears till they can take no more. The haunting sounds of the elements of the periodic table penetrating their minds and crumbling the fragile psyche. ‘ARGHHH I’M LEARNING …HELP…I’M LEARNING…NOW MY ACTIONS SEEM FOOLISH AND I’M MODERATLY SHAMEFUL’. Come on you pussy…read Shakespeare’s Midsummer Nights Dream on this stolen Kindle then we’ll see what you’re made of.

We’ll feed them to death on the disgusting food items of B & M bargains…GO ON LAD…EAT THIS TUB OF COMMUNIST CHOCOLATE…EAT ITTTTT…COME ON…YOU LIKE TO STEAL…STEAL THIS MULTIPACK OF DIET SPRITE…DRINK IT ALL…DRINK ITTTTTTT…the scum drinking till their stomachs bloat from the horrible unchilled beverages, bought in bulk from countries with no food standards agency. Pummelling the thugs with an economy size pack of batteries, spraying them in the eyes with faulty tins of old spice till their eyes are red raw and badly fragranced. IT BURNS…IT BURNS…OH THE SMELL…THE SMELLLLLL. That’s the smell of justice lad.

There will be no mercy.

We will chase them back in the streets with water bombs full of urine. Splattering against their stolen sportswear and rendering them unable to function, fleeing back to their council towers for a long bath. No one’s hard when they’re covered in hot piss. A super soaker of elderly waste products hosing the trouble makers down, smelling like the toilet of an old folks home they lose any confidence and become shivering, smelly wrecks.

We’ll fight them back with sticks; stick with dog poo on the end. Chasing them about, wafting the offending item near their faces till they run with girlish screams. ERRR…ERRR IT’S GOT POO ON IT…ERR…IT STINKS…NO…NO NOT MY EYES. Watch them cower in pooey justice, feeble and defenceless as we rub it against their hair and new le coq sportif trainers freshly looted from JD sports…ruined forever. This is the price you pay boy; the shit stick has no consideration for your civil rights.

We’ll play on their narrow minded, homophobic beliefs. Chasing them down in the street, an army of naked men greased up and well tanned, erections in hand, bearing down on the yobs with lustful eyes. ERR GET AWAY FROM US YOU PUFFS…ERR NO…FUCK OFF...NO...NOOOO. Grappling them to the ground for a gruelling tickling session, glittery, wet patches left on their clothes from our oily chests and buttocks. Defeated and demoralised by the hideous sight of the nude, male member, glistening under the stars and moonlight they trudge home sodomised. 90’s techno music blaring out of ghetto blasters, assaulting the senses, creating a grotesque atmosphere of homo erotic, gyrating, sweating vengeance.

To be fair though it was a fantastic idea by the lads to start rioting for no apparent reason, other than to have a bloody good time and steal some bottles of mulled wine from Bargain Booze. You know the countries poor and there are no jobs, so let’s just go and smash the shit out of the place we have to live. That will sort everything out. Top notch idea lads, we’ll just rack up more national debt and further add to the current recession that’s already crippling the U.K

EH?…WHAT’S HE FOOKIN ON ABOUT…WE GOT FREE STUFF LOL…LOOK…WE GOT FREE NIKE SHOCKS FOOKIN BUZZIN’ PAL INNIT LOL LOOK DAT CARS ON FIRE LOL LMFAO LET’S THROW STONES AT THIS FIRE TRUCK OH LOOK GRANS HOUSE IS ON FIRE LOL… HELPPPP HELLLPPPP LIL’ TIMMY HELPPP YOUR GRAMMY HELPPP...I’M BURNING LIL’ TIMMY…THE FLESH IS PEELING FROM MY OLD WEATHERED BONES….IF ONLY THE FIRE SERVICE WERE ABLE TO COME AND HELP ME FROM THIS INFERNO BUT NO…YOU THREW STONES AT THE FIRE TRUCK TIMMY NOW THEY CAN’T COME TO HELP YOUR GRAMMY…LOOK AT ME NOW …HELPPPPPPP…I’M BURNING HELPPP…I WILL HAUNT YOU TIMMY…MY BURNT FLAMING FACE TIMMY…TIMMYYYY…HELLLPPPPPPP…OH IT’S OK YOU STOLE A BOX FULL OF OLLY MURRS CDS…MY HORRIFIC DEATH SHALL NOT BE IN VAIN…I’M BURNING TIMMY..I’M BURNING…MY EYEBALLS ARE MELTING...MELTINGGGGGGGGGG…ARGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

Well Grannies gone little Timmy…Granny gone and did got dead boy.

On the other side though we have the general public going completely ape shit as usual and calling for rioters to be shot and killed. This seems perfectly reasonable to me, how would we go about having this done you ask? How would we go about changing the law enforcement rules of the country and instead of trying to resolve the situation in the most reasonable manner with damage limitation, we will simply just slaughter a bunch of people to settle the differences, because that always work. All you have to do is sign a facebook petition to bring back corporal punishment. That will definitely sort everything out, I’m sure these facebook petitions are completely valid and not started by some bored, idiot playing on the sensationalist views of the general public. They clearly have direct ties to high ranking government officials and they are NOT…I repeat NOT some lonely, slow witted, chronic masturbator trying to gain popularity by gaining the support of other slow witted, chronic masturbators to feel some sense of achievement and connection to people. KILL EM ALL PAL…SEND EM OFF TO THE ARMY…THAT WILL SORT THEM OUT. Definitely, that will sort everything out, we need to send some looting, rat faced twelve year olds in to the army to aid in the frontline battle against terrorism, excellent though process there. Kill them, hang them…hang the kids. That is most definitely the solution to the current crisis, we’ll hang them all…hang a bunch of ten year old chavs for stealing trainers and smashing windows. Genocide is an excellent option, now if we all just sign this facebook petition I’m sure we can legalise GENOCIDE. That’s how it works you see, we change the world by joining facebook groups to show our outrage instead of actually doing anything to benefit the community. Just join a facebook group pal…hang the kids…hang the fucking kids…send the kids to the army…send them to concentration camps…gas the kids…gas the Jews…oh wait? That was something else of absolutely no relation.

In conclusion I leave you this challenging though. People are fucking idiots.

Yours playfully.

Lukat.