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.

The University of Life.

Alright you bunch of spoon faced freaks? How the fuck is it goin?

EH...EH…EHHHHHHHHHH????????

It’s another dole day afternoon and I’m bored out of my massive mind but then again that’s nothing new is it. I’m always bored. I’m bored when I wake up. I’m bored when I go to sleep. I’m bored when I eat. I’m bored when I’m engaging bald men in fist fights and setting parts of my body alight in public…I’m just a pretty boring guy.

That being said I have many emotions as well as boredom, such as anger, revenge, spite, rage and the occasional fury. That last one is mainly reserved for people who post shit facebook statuses though.

So what has been getting my goat lately?

What’s been pulling my pecker… right off? So to speak...

Well I’ll tell you, it’s a little thing we call ‘university’, or that would be ‘Uni’ to all the hip kids out there.

Oh yes from a young age we are all told about the importance of education. You need a good education, stay in education they say. What you need bud... IS EDUCATION. Get some fucking learnin’ down your neck lad...fill yer’ boots.

Oh ok well this all sounds reasonable enough. We’ll go to nursery, yeah look I’m building my bricks, look at all the magic colours and shapes. I’m learning daddy look I’m learning weeeeehh weeeeeeehhhhhh higher daddy higher.

What’s next? Oh I have to go to school? Yeah that’s cool ...we go to school, I like to
learn…learning is good, its all going so well, I’m wearing some cheap polyester trousers and a neck tie. I’m eating warm sandwiches out of a food bag which appears to have been made from condoms, that’s cool. It’s good to protect your lunch from STD’s. Since this is a place of learning I guess the smartest kids are the coolest kids yeah? That sounds about right? I’m in with the popular crowd, all the cool kids wear spectacles, have an irrational fear of girls and the physique of E.T? It’s all good.

Oh wait no… I am in fact a geek now…I was sadly mistaken. Those fat, smelly, slow witted boys want to punch me in the arm because they think it’s ‘gay’ that I’m more intelligent than them…oh ok that’s cool…that’s just fine and dandy pal. I’ll just mind my own business and learn about that fat chump Pythagoras and get forced into outdoor P.E sessions, in the middle of winter, which involve running around semi nude, grappling with other boys in the mud as a muscular grey haired chap shouts abuse at me for being weak... some call it rugby… I call it a nonce’s wet dream but we can have our own opinions now cant we?

So anyway you stick school out for roughly 12 years and then they start telling you that you need to go to college…oh college? What’s that? I didn’t know about this? Oh yeah Lil’ Joey you gotta go to college now, You gots’ to go and get some more learnin’s kid, but this time you get to wear your own clothes. Really you mean my own, actual clothes? That’s fucking great. I get to learn even more things…and wear my own clothes at the same time? Imagine the novelty in that? I get to wear these clothes that I wear every fucking day...but now I get to wear them in a different building...that’s fucking fantastic? I’m sold.

I sign up for an art course… I sit around all day drawing cardboard boxes and smashing plates with a mallet to pass the time. They say Joey can you stop that for a moment you have to go to life drawing class. Oh really that sounds cool? I’m guessing we just draw things…you know…to do with life? Our hopes and dreams, what we hope to get out of life, that kind of thing? Beautiful sunsets and oil paintings of me climbing a mountain with Sting? Oh no Joey that’s not it, life drawing is where we hoist this fat, old woman on to this mattress and you draw her fanny with charcoal. Oh…wait a minute pal…is this legal? Oh yeah Joey this is compulsory, we’re just going to hoist her up on this step ladder on to this table so you can get a good view of ‘it’….b-b-b-but sir I don’t want to draw this old woman’s vagina, she has a hip replacement scar and this is the closest thing I’ve had to a sexual experience…HELP…HELPPPPPP…HELPPPPPPPP…

Ah well that’s over with and now I have a collection of drawings in my attic of a nude pensioners tits, then maybe I can move on to bigger and better things. This is where it’s at, once I’m done here I can finally do something useful with my life, like get a girlfriend or a job that earns me loads of money? I could make it big in the world? I could be a star, see the bright lights Mr…no more elderly labia’s for me.

But oh…no wait...now they’re saying you have to go to Uni? It’s very important that you go to Uni. If you don’t go to Uni you’re gonna have to work in the coal mines till you eventually rot and die in a pile of your own blood and excrement. Oh ok, well that sounds fair enough? I suppose I’ll just go to ‘Uni’ then?

…But err sorry to bother you ‘mate’ but what exactly is this ‘university?’

Well that’s a damn good question Lil’ Billy. University is basically when you don’t want to get a job and your parents can no longer stand you living in their homes as you’re a useless, masturbating freak with no prospects and force you out in to the big, bad world to fend for yourself

Oh yeah you get your own shit hole of a flat with a communal toilet, sharing it with a bunch of filthy chumps, so instead of walking to the bathroom in the middle of the night you choose to just urinate in your own sink (unless that’s just me?)

You stumble to a few lectures every week with a vicious hangover, a lecture which is essentially just some fat ponce reading through a PowerPoint presentation and looking smug about it. Then you get to write loads of essays about it after as a punishment for not listening.

You get to socialise with other likeminded people, much like a multicultural Jamie Oliver advert, but the goodtime fun has been replaced with newsagent’s cider and half arsed intercourse with fat chicks.

Well this all sounds brilliant but how much is it going to cost me Mr Luka?

Well you know ‘bud’ its near enough free of charge, you have roughly 3 years to attend so that would be about 3 grand for each individual year, now rising to 9 grand but that’s not including other expenses, so If I could just total this up on my calculator device I would probably say your total fee would be errrrrr… well over £20’000?

…but hey, I bet you sure do learn a lot for that kind of money?

Oh yeah pal once you walk out of there you’ll be earning that much a DAY...HOO HAH.

No BUD…this is sadly not the case I’m afraid. You walk out straight into the unemployment line and collect your weekly dole money so you can survive off Iceland frozen meals and get pissed off tinnie’s every once in a while to soothe the pain of your expensive failures. If you’re very lucky you might get to handle offal all day in a slaughterhouse or maybe a telesales job where your new boss is that chap from school who used to smell of piss and whack you on the head with a 50p coin for a bloody good laugh.

Oh that’s cool...no worries then. Sounds like a good time.

But Mr Luka if Uni is such a waste of time why do all these people seem to enjoy it so much? Well you see that’s because it takes a certain type of person to truly be a student. I’m not talking about a student in the way that one would learn and study a subject to become more educated. I’m talking about the kind of person that would tell you to ‘chillax’ at a Scouting for Girls gig. (Vom).

Now some may say (I really don’t know who these people are whom I keep referring to) ...but Mr Luka…you were a student back in the day? You know, before you got your long term career signing on at the dole?

My answer to that question would be no, I haven’t learnt anything since about 2002...so no worries there.

In fact I hate students and if I was to ever be classed as one I may just bite your nose clean off with my molars. I hate students so much if you were to even ask me to study anything I’d have to kidnap your family and slaughter them one by one to make you understand your mistake. It’s not just me though; everyone hates students, with their stupid satchels and love of the arts. You might think you’re pretty cool right now but wait till you decide to walk to town to purchase some more wacky t-shirts and Morrissey posters…oh yeah you’re prancing down the street in your funny little boat shoes thinking about how indie you are and then notice some chaps digging the road up. You get a little nervous don’t you, those gruff builder types are looking at you with their beady eyes? Dressing you down with their working class resentment and hairy forearms...you know what they are thinking don’t you pal?

‘BLOODY STUDENTS...BUNCH OF DICKS…GET A FOOKIN' JOB YOU PONCE’. (unless you’re female of course, to which they would simply ask you to expose your ‘fanny’ in that case.)

You try desperately to reason with them, if you could only explain…PLEASE...NO SIR...I’m not a real student, I’m not like them, look I’m covered in bizarre tattoos and have a child and a drinking problem …honest mate…look I’m calling you mate to show some kind of repore…pal…bud…squire…chief…cocker…you gotta believe me…

…alas…it is too late…you’re nothing to them but a cardigan wearing COCK.

So why should one be so disgusted in himself at the thought of being classed as a student? They are trying to better themselves; they are the future of this country Lukat? Leave them alone you horrible little man.

Well you see Lil' Billy…a student is a young person who has this wild idea that they are in fact more intelligent than they are and have a vast understanding of politics and other knowledge, for some reason thinking that people actually care about their little opinions which they produced from reading wikipedia. They haven’t realised that life is in fact a series of humiliations linked together by shame and embarrassment and all their dreams will be crushed into a fine paste and then hurled into the fires of eternal damnation. (Oh I know all about shame pal , you try falling down the stairs of a popular nightclub on your head, rolling out on the dance floor as your shoe flies off and hits an attractive girl...yeah you get up and try walking away with dignity after that one . Luckily I didn’t walk away, I decided to strut over a table instead and hit my head on a ceiling fan so there wasn’t too much embarrassment involved that time)

These BLOODY students…they wear pointy buckled shoes…berets…and other zany outfits to try and seem original but end up looking exactly the same as each other creating a hideous society of guys with wispy little beards, anchor tattoo’s and tiny pants.

These BLOODY students…they come from nice little villages and sleepy little towns where you can go out on a Saturday night and not get bottled by some furious lesbians whom you have offended on a previous excursion. (Not that I have a problem with the lesbians…great bunch of lads.)

These BLOODY students…they talk in southern accents and erm...YEAH…YEAH…THAT’S RIGHT…

So in conclusion I would just like to offer the following advice...don’t go to Uni. It’s a waste of time, just stay at home and watch Jezza Kyle on TV or something. That’s a real learning experience right there and it’s pretty much free...well other than a looming sense of despair and self loathing. You could even go and buy a speedboat with that twenty grand you’d save by not going to uni… imagine that...a fucking speedboat pal? You'd like that wouldn't you? Shooting off down the canal in your high powered boat without a care in the world?

If you’re still not convinced, I’ll tell you what University you should sign up for lad...the university of LIFE... Oh yeah had to get that one in there. You need to get yourself a criminal record and sign on the dole, maybe a job on a building site. That will sort you right out …be a real man…a degree in HARD BLOODY WORK MATE…just like the one I have, luckily I was able to Photoshop that particular certificate so I could spend more time with my main interest…doing
fuck all.

Yours educationally

Lukat

When a man loves a woman.

Ok here’s the deal PAL. Here’s the way it is MATE. Here’s the low down BUD. The thing is I’m working on finishing the last draft of my book at the moment so all my writing ‘skill’ is going in to that. Lukat don’t have time to write you an original and thought provoking blog so I figure since I’ve only been putting my blogs back out there for a few months now then chances are people aint read this shit anyways. So instead of making any effort with you subhuman scum then I may as well reach back in to my blog archive and rehash a blog I wrote a while back but with a fresh and shiny twist. Also I have learnt when to appropriately use 'there, their and they’re' now so it’s a whole different ball game. Like ‘soccer ball’ or ‘basketball’ or ‘balls’. I can’t remember when I wrote this one since I spend all my time moaning about you ‘chicks’ so I think it still stands the test of time, as does all great philosophy. So anyways you get what you’re given, while I’m doing my real, adult writing you punters can read my profound words of the past.

So here it is…I give you Lukat’s guide to women.

‘I’m sorry women but now you’ve gone and done it again, that’s right, I hate you all. Now don’t get me wrong I’m clearly not a raging sexist, demanding that you should be in the kitchen making me some form of bread based meal and remarking that you have small feet so you can stand closer to the kitchen sink, no of course not. I'm all about equal rights, it's why I have no problem having a fistfight with a lesbian.

Having said that though, you birds, you’re a load of hassle aren’t you. With your love of putting different amounts of kisses on each text, trying to confuse old Luka. Now you even take it a step further with your cruel mind games, where talking lower and upper case kisses. Surely this isn’t a random selection, who would do such a thing as to summarise our relationship by making a mockery of punctuation? It’s just not reasonable, your homosexual pals get ten kisses but I your loving boyfriend only gets two, If I’m to bring this up I’m clearly some kind of animal, a jealous freak who can’t handle his woman even being in the same room as another man. You torture me and hit me with the one kiss, a warning sign that if I further my disgusting behaviour that you will have no choice but to take away my kisses completely. Culminating in the hideous act of ending a text with a single full stop, like a kick in the throat…of love.

I mean I try to compliment you, I compare you to fat birds I have previously had drunken relations with and say that you’re much better, yet you take this as an insult? What kind of lunatic wouldn’t want to be put in the same category as overweight people I used to have sex with? What’s wrong with you people?

Then I decide to have a few drinks, maybe pour some lambrini down my pants, call your friend’s chunky and have a few fistfights and you take offence to this? So what if I get my penis out in public every now and then, am I not allowed to express myself anymore? Well I am sorry for being myself; I thought this was an honest relationship?

Maybe it’s just me, maybe I’m in the wrong?

Maybe if I understood the needs of women more then I would be the modern day Romeo that I always claimed to be. But what is it exactly those women want? Well I’ve conducted some tests, drawn up some pie charts, sent out a questionnaire to every owner of a labia in the universe and I feel I understand now. (Sadly I’m not allowed to present any of my scientific research here due to pressing legal reasons.)

They want someone sensitive, someone who will treat them like the delicate creature that they are. Someone who will buy them beautiful flowers (preferably not daffodils as legend has it that they are the official flower of urine, or is that dandelions? I forget). Someone who will take them for walks in the park that don’t result in getting arrested for public nudity charges. Someone who will make sweet love to them instead of spending the night vomiting in to the toilet and sobbing about life’s injustices.

Yes they want someone who will turn up outside their window at 4am dressed in a kind of Shakespearian outfit with tights, frilly shirt and buckled shoes, playing a harp and singing terrible love songs that you wrote yourself. Send her lovely cards with snugly little puppies on them and the phrase ‘I wuv you’. She needs to know you care and are in touch with your feminine side. If she doesn’t hold your hand in public then throw a wild tantrum on the floor, kicking your legs about and screaming. At the end of every text end it with a sad face to show what a brooding and deep character you really are : (

However they don’t want a pussy do they now? You’re over emotional, she can’t handle it, she wants a real man, and you’re crowding her personal space with your sickening levels of affection. So maybe you should back off, give her some time, and ignore her for a little while maybe? It all seems very reasonable, no?

Wait a minute now, why are you ignoring the woman you love? Do you not care about her feelings? Her wants? Her needs? What are you, some kind of insensitive bastard with no heart, is that what it is pal? What happened to the flowers? The harp? What the devil is wrong with you man? Sort it out at once before she leaves you for someone better looking and more successful.

That’s ok though help is at hand my friend. You must prove your love to her by writing her enchanting poems about how you would like to comb her hair , flirt with her grandmother a little so she knows you want to get to know the family, a breast grab should do the trick. Maybe you could try self harming to show that you really care? Carve her name into your arm then post the pictures on facebook so everyone can see, that’s sure to win her back. If that fails then call her very late at night sobbing down the phone and threatening to kill yourself if she doesn’t touch your penis? It all seems very level headed to me.

Sadly now she wants someone a bit tougher, a hard man maybe who can protect her when you’re out and about. You’re going to have to show her that this man is you and if ever there was a time that actions would speak louder than words then this would be it. The answer here is obvious, you should find her weakest, most feeble male friend or possibly a disabled family member, and then you should really give him a beating. That’s right just really wallop the shit out of him. All the girls love a bad boy, you take no shit, and you let your firsts do the talking. You’re a bad boy from the wrong side of the tracks and you don’t take no shit off nobody. Yes you really did a number on that cripple; watch her fall into your arms. You proved what a man’s man you are and now she feels real safe.

Ah I’m afraid that didn’t go so well. In fact you could say it seems to have backfired. You are now a violent psychopath and possible woman beater, how could she ever be with you? You’re worse than an animal, you need help and lots of it, and the police also want a word with you but its quite alright, help is at hand.

You need to get her trust back but it’s not going to be easy. You’ve blown your chances for the time being of it being a romantic relationship so we shall switch to plan b, that being friendship.

Its simple, just tell her you want to be friends, go shopping with her, share a joke with her mother , give her your opinions on outfits and let her tell you all about the ‘cute guys’ she’s seen (while of course hiding your seething rage behind a kind of retards smile and nodding). It’s all going so well I must say; your back in her life just waiting till you can once again become something more to her.

There’s a slight problem here. I hate to break this to you but she now thinks you’re a homosexual. Not that there is anything wrong with that of course, each to their own. It’s not quite working for you though since you were hoping to touch her nipples. She sees you as a very good friend now, far too good a friend to ever ruin that relationship. She’s going out with Dave now, he knows how to have a good time, he’s a failed 3rd division footballer, owns an Astra with them fancy lights underneath and has one of them very trendy eyebrow piercing. So I’m afraid you’re all out of luck.

You’re going to have to take things up a level. You’re going to have to crank up the voltage and really take matters into your own hands now, its all or nothing. What you need to do is drink lots of very cheap cider and find out which club she will be attending at the weekend. Make sure you are carrying the stench of alcohol and you have slightly pissed on your jeans due to poor aim in the toilet. Now is the time to strut over to her doing your best John Travolta impression, and then force yourself upon her. Yes that’s right, women love a bit of penis don’t they now, it’s what there after of course, it drives them wild. So just gently undo the fly of your pants and let your member hang out, very subtly but not too obscure as you need to make sure she has seen it, possibly by winking at her and nodding towards your crotch region. If she’s still not taking the bait then maybe you need a bit of verbal persuasion, just something short and sweet that will send her the right message, maybe something like ‘Ere…I’ve got a rubber Johnny in my pocket babes?’ This should do the trick.

Wait a minute what is that she’s pulling out of her purse? It looks like a torch of some kind, or a dispenser of chewing gum possibly? Oh wait no it is in fact a rape alarm. Yes you are now a registered sex offender and could be spending some time in prison being sodomised by large African men. I’m sorry it didn’t work out for you but better luck next time and you’ll surely be out of prison in 8 years or so, plenty of time for romance then.’

Burnley woman, stay away from me.

Another day, another dollar. That opening phrase is in no way appropriate since I’m poor and pretty sure that Ramzan at the corner shop doesn’t accept American currency. He does however accept high prices for out of date confectionary so I think we can all benefit from that. I believe today is a Tuesday but who’s keeping track? I spent the weekend entertaining my kid with a dinosaur hand puppet and now I’m back to my day job which is basically cutting my own hair with blunt scissors and begging for a job stacking shelves at B & M bargains. Burnley after all is the home of bargains; we have more pound shops than we do hospital wards, boasting the likes of The 99p Store, Poundland, Home Bargains, The Pound Emporium, Poundstretcher and briefly the famous ‘Poundshrinker’ store which actually implied that they devalue your money, which is always a good business strategy. But who am I to point these things out? I’m but a simple buffoon with no sales experience or knowledge so how bloody dare I have the arrogance to reveal these basic spelling errors, such as the rather large banner in town advertising the ‘Chicken Cottage RESTUARANT’ which I am sure is a fine eatery. It’s also good to know that when applying for a job as a proof reader, which for those who don’t know is checking over documents to ensure that they are grammatically correct, I got the following reply.

‘We regret to inform you that you WAS not successful in your application to the job as proof reader.’

Oh I see I WAS not successful well that’s fair enough maybe I WAS be successful next time ‘mate’. Now either this is some kind of ironic grammar based joke or the people working there are producers of books for the illiterate, which I’m sure is a great market. Maybe in hindsight I should have offered a more appropriate covering letter.

‘Aye wood like two erply for da job I hop I was be gud fore it farnx.’

Not that I’m bitter or anything? Nor is it the first time my writing has come in to question over the past month with me receiving an email from a Ms Claire Munday who appears to not even be able to spell her own name correctly (it’s Monday pal) telling me that my c.v. only scored a measly 19/30. A soul crushing defeat which must also mean that the 87’000 word novel I just wrote is totally useless and I should burn it at once. Or maybe I should send said novel off to Ms Monday* asking her to give me an overall score out of 30 in it’s effectiveness as a piece of literature. Also notable is the opportunity they offer of rewriting your C.V. for a cheap as chips £15 which I’m sure has no relevance in sending the email in the first place. I expect a redrafted version of the manuscript returned to me by ‘Munday’ please. I’ll send it off after I reply to these Viagra emails which inform me I have earned an 80% discount. It’s hard to be hard.

Speaking of the book I’ve just finished the 3^rd draft and am now in a position to give you a few lines of it for free, I apologise for the plot spoilers.

‘I found her getting finger fucked in a back alley.’

‘She sucked my flaccid penis for around ten minutes.’

‘I stared at the fat bastard as though he was a mythical beast.’

Truly inspirational words from a modern day poet. I hope you will all send me your cash now to order this instant classic of a book which has been quoted as being ‘the feel good hit of the summer’. Quoted by me…just then. For people expecting any light-hearted humour then you will be sadly disappointed but then again who the hell would expect that from me anyway? What it doesn’t have in ‘fun’ and ‘laughs’ it more than makes up for in blood, vomit and drinking oneself impotent though, so be ready for penetration from my quarter mast dick. All metaphorical of course, I don’t want to fuck any of you disgusting mouth breathers. Now THAT is how you address your audience.

Can I also just say that I am truly disappointed that the News of the World have never tried to hack the Lukat's phone considering my superior social standing? I am putting it down to the fact that my phone is so cheap and old that it doesn’t even have a camera. I’m presuming the technology they have currently is not able to hack such a primitive device. The phone does have a torch on it though which I am sure to show off to anyone I meet whether the subject comes up or not. If they did hack my phone however they would be very disappointed since most of my texts are from the phone company and me attempting to flirt very badly with women. I am a stud after all.

SUCH A STUD AM I …that I use the winky tongue face after everything I say… ;0p...So so cheeky.

SUCH A STUD AM I…that girls sniff my chair when I get off the bus just to feel physically close to me.

SUCH A STUD AM I…that to seduce women all I have to do is gently edge a condom out of my pocket and nod to it suggestively before porking her next to some bins.

Huhuh bbz I’d lyk 2 c ur shewz on ma floor lol bbz lol winky winky cheeky face look I’m flirting isn’t It obvious I’m flirting lol look I’m typing lol I’m funny and personable lol lmfao I’m literally laughing my arse off...my fucking arse at that …cummon bbz lol ur r well fit..I WUD..WINKY FACE…I WOULD*..WINKY FACE..I WOULD*…LOL I WUD RUIN U LOL LOL WINKY TONGUE FACE…I WUD ; 0 p flirty flirty flirt flirt WUDNT KICK YOU OUTA BED..HAHAHAH..HAHAHAHRGHHHH…LOOK I’M AN IDIOT..I’M A FUCKING IDIOT LOL..LOOK LOL..I’M TYPING LOL BECAUSE I HAVE NOTHING OF VALUE TO SAY SO SIMPLY USE LOL AS A SUBSTITUTE FOR SAYING SOMETHING OF INTEREST LOL LMFAO ROFL BBZ KISS KISS..xxxxx oooooh smoochy smooooch xxxxx..smoochy smooochy smooch smoooooch xxxx lol winky face…winky sad face? ; p ( I’m flirting but depressed…I’m masturbating and sobbing uncontrollably lol…that’s cool right?…look I said lol after so it must be a joke…how are you lol…wuu2 lol…I would lol…shoes under my bed lol…they are literally under my bed lol…I want to feel your soft tender nipple in my heathen mouth, dripping with the spittle of animal lust lol…lol..lol…lol…lmfao…lol….I want to split you in two with my 1.5 inch erection…would you like to take some painkillers beforehand lol…lol… lol lol lol lol lol lol lol lol…

…anywhere where was I?

Oh yeah me being somewhat of a stud…a player…a ladies man…a jack the lad…the proverbial fanny rack.

I would hazard a guess that I’ve slept with as many as 3-5 women but who can even keep track anymore? I just can’t crunch the numbers. Excellent news though. I think I may have just found the next ‘notch’ on my bedpost whilst browsing the dating adds in the Burnley express (to pass the time of course).

’52 year old woman seeking someone who does not experience sexual attraction’.

SOLD.

I will snap that up right away, this woman truly sounds like a catch. Judging by her language and request that she find someone who is not attracted to women whatsoever or whom would even consider having sex with her I am filled with optimism…I can tell she is a very beautiful woman. This is the confidence I’m looking for in a lady friend. Please ignore my hideous face…please…don’t look at me…DON’T LOOK AT MEEEEE….I AM THE ELEPHANT MANNNNNNNN. (Sorry John)

The Burnley express is the only source I trust when finding a possible soul mate or sexual partner. I love Burnley so much that I will date ONLY women born and bred here like prize cattle. I am not able to become physically attracted to anyone born elsewhere so if that’s not the case just stop wasting your time right now. I love the thick maroon skin of the mature Burnley stunners, like a faux leather handbag left out in the sun all day. I love the tangerine Burnley chubsters getting their fanny out on a Friday night, squatting in public to take a piss. I love the scraggly Burnley meth heads, all wired up and wrestling with security guards on a shoplifting spree in TK Maxx.

Once I saw a Burnley woman who was so beautiful I wept and broke down right there a beaten man. A man so hollow I could barely draw another breath. There she was, hoisting her mighty frame through the town centre. Her mighty thighs rubbing together, her features lost in a mound of orange flesh and chins. Whispy little boyfriend at her side in his unwashed sportswear and I could of killed him right there out of jealousy. She took my breath away and she also left with a piece of my heart. I watched her greasy lips kiss out words of profound beauty. She said in her husky, cigarette worn voice...

‘EY ...EY I’M NOT FOOKING GOING UP THERE…I’LL GET BLOODY RAPED UP THERE…GET FOOKING RAPED UP THERE I WILL HEHEHRGHHHH’.

Oh lost love, one day I will find you again and maybe then I can find some form of contentment. Maybe then I can learn to live with myself for not taking a chance, for being a coward. Burnley rose you smell the sweetest, you smell of home…piss…and Dove body spray.

To be fair though I think even the sex offenders have a little more class than that and if confronted by this ‘page 3 stunner’ would be shaking their heads in shame and pity.

Burnley women. I love you.

I however am that desperate.

SO DESPERATE AM I…that I approach the charity collection people in town and force them to engage me in long and drawn out conversations even though I can’t donate any money.

SO DESPERATE AM I…that a guy from safestyle u.k turned up at my house the other week and offered me a job as a door to door double glazing salesman because HE felt bad for me.

SO DESPERATE AM I… that when I went in to Burton to look at clothes I couldn’t afford I talked to the salesman at the counter about the different grains of fabric and perils of matching a black suit jacket with black pants in painful detail even though I had no intention of making a purchase.

So desperate am I that once again I have wasted several hours rambling on with no real intent or purpose other than to avoid working out and hoovering my kid’s dinner off the floor. Sadly now the time has arisen for me to go and lift large chunks of stainless steel in order to look like I’ve been inflated with a bicycle pump. The things I do for you people. I will now end this blog with the winky face to make it feel as though you have some kind of repore with me. Let us share this common ground.

; p ( lol

Lukat.