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.

This is what happens when you have to watch daytime TV

BLAH BLAH BLAH OH LOOKS IT’S THAT STUPID BELL END MOANING ABOUT BEING ON THE DOLE AND NO ONE TOUCHING HIS TODGER AGAIN. BOOOO BOOOOOO…WHY DON’T YOU JUST BLOODY FUCK OFF LUKA…WITH YOUR STRONG POWERFUL CHIN AND LOVELY LOVELY SOFT HAIR…YOU DICK…YOU STUPID DICK…BOOOOOO….GET A BLOOOODYYY JOBBBBB….GET A BLOOOODY GIRLFRIENDDDDDDD BOOOOOOOO NO ONE GIVES A SHIT WHAT YOU HAVE TO SAYYYY WHY DON’T YOU JUST DIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE..

Alright mate, cool your jets it’s not like I drone on and on and on and on about the same shit all the time is it? By the way this blog is about being unemployed and not getting laid.

Day 459 of my unemployment odyssey. Is it? No probably not but I can’t be arsed working out the dates just to satisfy a bunch of blog reading chumps. No offence like? Notice when someone says no offence they often use it just before saying something quite offensive. Like saying sorry before you set a bird sanctuary on fire, not that I’ve ever done such a thing. I have no problem with winged creatures unless they decide to defecate on me, which just shows the arrogance of the animal community thinking they can take a shit on people without any consequences. Anyway no offence but I believe we should gas anyone who isn’t white to create an Aryan super race. No offence but I just had sex with your deceased grandmother. No offence but I’m Olly Murrs. See my point? I’d like to think so.

Anyway I paid a trip down to the old dole house just this past week only to discover that my new ‘advisor’ had once spent a heroic EIGHTEEN MONTHS on the dole. Now maybe I’m wrong here but when I’m putting my employment chances in the hands of this stud who has single handedly devalued my epic dole record by trouncing me by a whole year then maybe It’s time to look elsewhere for help?

…and who better to help me…than myself. Or I as I sometimes like to be called.

Since my last business ventures never really took off due to the general public being a bunch of buffoons and cowards then I have decided to come up with a few more consumer friendly opportunities for you to wrap your disgusting, sausage like fingers around. That’s just me though, I love to help. Some of you might be saying ‘...b-b-b-but Lukat…sir…no OFFENCE but you’re a jobless loser sponging off the government, how the hell can you help?’ Well that may very well be true but for what I don’t have in ‘money’ and ‘skills’ I more than make up for in bitterness and a love of ruining other peoples fun.

So that got me thinking, what do people like? I wouldn’t know as I’m not considered to be an actual ‘person’ but if I was I’d assume it would be things like…quality of life…health…entertainment…education. All kinds of wonderful stuff that doesn’t involve watching repeats of Judge Judy in a pair of shorts I’ve had since I was 14. (Due to the wearing away of the material in the crotch area these shorts are no longer suitable for public use.) So how can I provide this kind of ‘useful’ service that people may even enjoy? Because really, learning can be fun. Especially when starting fires during class time, I didn’t both make and burn an effigy of Richard Gere just to be heckled on youtube. I did it for the benefit of humanity.

Behold my concepts. Cherish me. Tickle the Lukat's whiskers and stroke his luxurious fur. Purrrr purrrr…REEEERRRR.

Lukat’s 100% British Zoo

As an animal lover and long time fan of containing things that are weaker and less intelligent than I am in confined spaces then it would make sense that a zoo would be an exciting business venture. Now if you’re like me and sick of all these pompous foreign animals coming over in their banana boats and stealing the work and accommodation of good British animals then fear no more. I, 'The Lukat' am going to put an end to this and open a zoo of fabulous creatures which would usually not get the recognition they deserve. Behold the wonder of Lukat’s Zoo. ROLL UP ROLL UP people of all ages, come see Lukat’s zoo located in the car park of a condemned pub in the beautiful rural area of Burnley.

Come see the world famous Spider shed. We have collected a range of beautiful house spiders from various asbestos soaked abandoned council houses and have brought them to you in one magical place. Does your child have a birthday party coming up? Maybe you want to do something truly special for little Billy and his schoolyard chums. Well I offer you an exclusive package which allows your kids a whole 4 HOURS in the spider shed. We lock up to ten kids in a dark, spider infested second hand shed so they can interact with the friendly creatures, letting them crawl on your Childs face, underneath their clothes and lay eggs in their hair.

‘MR LUKAT PLEASE…I’M SCARED...PLEASE…I WANT MY MUMMY…PLEASE MR LUKAT THE SPIDERS ARE BITING MY LEGS’

‘Oh little Billy the spiders aren’t biting you, they’re giving you kisses. Now stop your sobbing.’

It will be a birthday your child will never forget. But the fun doesn’t stop there, oh no. We have a range of other attractions as well which are simply unmissable and are all included in the original £20 fee on entry.

There’s the wasp tent. We have filled a rather small Argos tent with about 50 wasps, all of which were raised with British passports. Not only do you get up close and personal with the furry little critters but you also get an exclusive gift bag including damaged sachets of brown sauce, a 2 litre bottle of Netto orangeade to share between you and a blob of antiseptic creams for any ‘bites’ or other small injuries which may arise. (Disclaimer-Lukat is not responsible for any incidents which may arise in the wasp tent) The wasp tent is not just for kids either, maybe grandpa wants a day out to experience the unique interaction as the angry wasps sting his frail body.

‘MR LUKAT...MR LUKATTT…IS GRANDPA OK...HE’S SHAKING...MR LUKAT PLEASEEE THE WASPS ARE HURTING HIM’.

Oh little Billy don’t worry about grandpa, the wasps are just tickling him, he’s having the time of his life.

You want more? Well we got more. Come climb under the covers of the woodlouse bed. Come on kids get all nice and cosy and come play with your new creepy crawly friends. We have picked up a knackered old mattress from the tip and then covered it in a community of household woodlice all with unique and endearing personalities that your children will simply fall in love with. There’s Uncle Duke Louse with his zany ideas and crunchy outer shell. There’s Pappa Louse and Mumma Louse creeping around with their lovable kids, covered in filth and disease. Not to mention big buster Louse who is twice the size of a normal louse and known to nest in the hair of little girls. Come see the whole family in Lukat’s Woodlouse bed, you’ll never want to leave.

That’s not enough? What about the bluebottle bins? We lock you in a wheelie bin filled with giant flies. The fun never ends.

Or the slug lift? We pack you all barefoot in to a lift and let you ride to the very top floor of a block of council flats, all the while enjoy the company of the charming and gooey animals.

VISIT NOW. LUKAT’S ZOO. TICKETS ARE AVAILABLE NOW. JUST SIMPLY SEND ME YOUR BANK DETAILS AND LET THE FUN COMMENCE.

Lukat’s dole enhancement course

Have you recently signed on the dole? Maybe you got a degree in fine art or forensic science and realised no one will employ you? Well help is at hand with The Lukat’s dole enhancement course. I will not help you find a job, far from it, I will simply advise you on all aspects of the dole lifestyle. Including how to correctly fill out your little dole booklet with lies and tall tales to get you out of the job centre quicker. I will show you how to stretch your money by purchasing subhuman foods from home bargains and Iceland. I will provide you with a list of alcohol prices to determine what brand of supermarket bitter would work out the cheapest. (Currently Asda which offers the fantastic opportunity of 8p a can). Do you have too much pride or self esteem that is getting in the way of you effectively completing your time on the dole? Maybe you find it degrading to be advised by people who are much less intelligent and less useful than yourself. Well never fear, we will completely strip you of any pride you have by getting you wasted off white ace and making you sleep with hideous, orange women. GO ON LAD.

Our team of experts will beat you with a sack full of spare change and urinate on you to prepare you for all the upcoming humiliation you will receive at the hands of the job centre. We have mock interviews set up where we hurl abuse at you and make you eat dog food off the floor in hope that it might get you a job. COME ON…YOU USELESS BASTARD…YOU WANT A JOB DON’T YOU…EAT THE DOG FOOD.

DOG FOOD…DOG FOOOD...DOG FOOOOD.

It’s not all hard work and elbow grease though. To make learning more fun we have designed a whole new version of dole monopoly. Pass go and receive your £52 a week benefits. You can play as a variety of characters including…the stinking le coq sportif cap…the knackered old fiesta…the can of special brew…or the used condom. Go to jail for not paying your TV license. Chance card…pay £80 fine for urinating in public. Buy a cheap council house in Nelson and charge your tenant extortionate rates to get rid of the musty, damp smell and yellow stains on the wall. THIS IS DOLE MONOPOLY.

Sign up now for your dole enhancement course available at all credible places of learning.

Lukat’s street workout

Are you sick of going to the nice, clean gym and having to share the equipment with a bunch of ponces wearing their boat shoes and cheeky novelty t shirts? Do you crave a more manly, rugged workout which will actually cause more harm to your body than it will good? Well come take part in Lukat’s prison workout. I have set up a series of objects in my back yard which need smashing up and taking to the tip. Work all day with no food or water breaking up old washing machines and feel the benefits of a real mans workout while I play you rap music and beat you with a large stick every now and then.

Cardio? I got your cardio…we go for a run in the roughest areas of Burnley wearing skinny jeans, cardigans and carrying expensive laptops…run for your lives as unwashed youths chase after you on bikes to steal your possessions and kick your head in.

Engage each other in daily knife fights. Build your own shiv from rusty nails, old toothbrushes and razors and battle it out to improve your conditioning. Please avoid any actual stabbing/sticking with the blade though due to recent fatalities during the workout. Just cut each other a little, we need to think about the health and safety after all. It’s political correctness gone mad I say.

Work on your speed by playing games of chicken on the motorway. Who will show their fitness superiority by not getting crushed by a Farmfoods lorry? Who will have the mental resolve to live when others die in the name of a good workout? The guys down at the gym are too busy flexing on the rowing machine and staring at attractive girls to know what it takes to be a real man. There are no attractive girls here. Just a whole bunch of pain and insurance forms. Enter Lukat’s street workout. Enter the 4^th dimension of health and fitness.

Yours for £10 an hour and a few tinnies.

Well there you have it. I’m not sure exactly what IT is but I assume it is something that was evident in the blog otherwise there’d be no point writing it. NO BLOODY POINT WRITING IT HAHAHAHAHA…THERE HAS TO BE A POINT...DOESN’T THERE? WHAT DOES IT ALL MEAN...JUST WORDS…JUST TINY STUPID WORDS…OH MY LIFE HAS NO MEANING…COME ON MATE GIS’ A JOB…GIS’ A JOB…I’LL SUCK NUTELLA OFF YOUR FINGERS…COME ON BABE…COME ON MY MUMS NOT IN AND I’VE GOT SOME OLD CONDOMS…SOME OF EM’ MIGHT STILL BE IN DATE…PLEASE..OH GOD PLEASE…KILL ME…KILL ME...KILL MEEEEEEEEEEEEE I CAN’T TAKE IT ANYMORE.

I mean…cool…thanks for reading.

Lukat.

Beards, pornography and other tales of failure.

Another blog… another bastard blog. A sign that I am neither employed nor getting laid currently. My boredom has become so severe now that for the first time in my life I have decided to commit to growing a beard. An act so offensive and vile that it takes a certain kind of man to pull it off. Sadly I am not one of these men and currently have a sparse collection of white/blonde hairs spread around my face, like a pre pubescent boy trying to get served for alcohol. Speaking of which the last time I tried to get served for a case of Carlsberg (which is wrong on every level) the ethnic gentleman at the shop looked at me so suspiciously that I began to question if I was in fact of legal age to buy alcohol despite being a grown man

’How old are you mate?’

ERRR...ERRR.WELLL ERRR...I’M 23 HONEST PAL…DOGS HONOUR…I’M 23…THAT’S OLD ENOUGH ISN’T IT? I HAVE MY I.D LOOK IT’S ME I WAS YOUNGER BUT ERRR...IT’S STILL ME...BUT IN THE PAST…CUMMON MATE... A GUY JUST WANTS TO BUY SOME CARLSBERG...I WON’T BINGE DRINK MATE…OR USE IT TO SEDUCE MINORS…PLEASE MATE…CUMMON MATE…MY BIRTHDAY IS ERR...FUCK FUCK...IT’S ERRRR… I’M SORRY PAL...I’M SO SO SORRY...I’LL JUST GO

…fleeing the shop in tears with my ears bleeding and leaving a ten pound note on the counter for compensation of my act of deception.

So what’s new in my life…well other than ‘the beard’ then I’d have to say absolutely nothing. So what’s this blog about? I have no fucking idea, I never think these things through but luckily for me I can talk pointless shit for hours until people leave the room shaking their heads, both furious and full of pity, not being able to comprehend their own emotions. That emotion is simply ‘Lukat’. Lukat is not a man but a force of nature, a ray of sunshine on a hot summer’s day. The twinkle in an old mans eye as he sees his flowers spring to life in the British bloom. The anger in a girls face as she looks at me with disappointment and hatred as I offer to ‘finger’ her as compensation after drinking myself impotent. These beautiful feelings are all part of the true essence of Lukat. A true poet of our modern times, but enough about me.

Actually I have nothing other than me to sell, it’s all about me…me… me… me…fucking me. Oh yeah read my stupid little blogs and my opinions …oh look at me with my stupid tattoos and muscles which offer no practical use other than for posturing in filthy night clubs to seduce big boned, drunk chicks. My life is a series of heroic events that embody words like dignity and achievement. Sadly this doesn’t seem to come across on my C.V which has been rejected so many times I’m starting to wonder if I’ve smeared shit on the paper or wrote some subliminal message on it in a moment of madness… ‘FUCK OFF…STUPID BELL END…DON’T WANT JOB…WILL FUCK FOR COINS’. Sounds reasonable to me anyway.

So if my C.V is no good maybe that’s because the potential employers can see through my web of lies and faux politeness. Maybe instead if I was more honest about my achievements then they would realise that I’m a pretty great guy and they should let me use the company toilets to wash my undies in the sink. Cool.

Lukat C.V

Profile

I am a bitter, hate filled man who lives at home with his mother. I have never had a proper job as I believe that I am better than most people however I do have many useless qualifications in art based subjects which will be of no use at all to the position I’m applying for. I have no criminal record but that does not mean I don’t regularly commit crimes, ranging from urinating on public landmarks to fighting with bald, drunken oafs in the street. I have many bizarre tattoos’ including the naked torso of Iggy Pop and some text from American psycho as I only seem to be able to relate to serial killers. I enjoy working out in front of a full length mirror, mostly naked, mainly because I find myself so attractive that I could get an erection over the sight of my own body. I hate small animals and other peoples kids and have a secret agenda to tear down society and revel in a kind of post apocalypse where the general public are all slaughtered like the dickless sheep they are. I am totally wrong for this position and will most likely mock you via my facebook and twitter accounts and post blogs detailing what a total wanker you are because I have no respect for you or anything you have ever done or will do in your pointless existence on this earth.

Work experience

None. I was forced against my own will to do some work experience in a warehouse when I was about 15. I had to ride around in a fork lift truck with a chap called Windy which I can only assume is because he had experienced some notable success at being flatulent, most likely farting on people down at the pub. The rest of the staff told me he was a sex offender but not until I was a good 8 feet in the air with him alone, to which they shouted ‘PEEDO PEEDOOO’. On my lunch breaks they let me sit in the office and look at pornography, some of which they had sellotaped to the roof of the building so they could look at ‘tits and fannies’ as they were working. It was a professional environment and my input was non existent as is often the case when I’m bored and surrounded by halfwits. I did however get a free mug and some samples of shampoo and toilet cleaner to take home with me but I have never actually cleaned a toilet as I have no work ethic. During my time they allowed me to attend a health and safety course where an angry red faced gentleman explained the dangers of the warehouse by sticking a bowing ball on a stick and saying it weighed as much as our heads. I am still unsure of the moral here as it is very difficult to adjust the weight of ones head, especially in the short time I was on work experience.

I did work in a bar for about 4 hours but I was so terrible at it that the customers became very angered. They were ungrateful bastards if you ask me, it’s not my fault I poured them a half pint of froth and charged them more than the actual price. Many of them were old so I just assumed that they would be senile and be happy with what they were given, but that’s the elderly for you…just a bunch of nob heads aren’t they?

Education

I have all my GCSE’s as when I was younger I was a quiet mute who would sit in the library on my lunch breaks with other social outcasts. This allowed me to achieve a pass in all my exams as girls didn’t actually consider me to exist so I had no distractions. At college there was much of the same until I discovered alcohol and started drinking heavily, I still managed to pass but that was mainly through my skill of lying and pretending I’d done work when I’d actually just handed in the same project several times. This is a testament to my laziness and on a few occasions I was asked to leave the premises due to me distracting other members of the class. One time I head butted the power switch off to the entire building because an associate had slapped me on the buttocks as I was crawling around on the desks for a laugh. Sometimes I would go in wearing shorts and pull them up to the crack of my anus which gave the impression that I was naked, I enjoyed playing sports but mainly in the classroom, sadly the teachers seemed to have on objection to me booting a football around a room with delicate art supplies but they are stuck up faggots if you ask me. I also had to take a life drawing class which involved me standing in a hot room for several hours and sketching an elderly woman’s vagina with charcoal. She was hoisted on to a mattress which was spread out on some tables, often with a step ladder as she had just had a hip replacement. Due to my ineffectiveness with women seeing her pussy at the age of 16 was the first sexual experience I ever had. This was a blow to my self confidence but luckily I managed to go on to Uni, the only Uni that would accept me of course as I was rejected from most of the major universities after turning up at the interview with a portfolio of naked dolls which I’d torn the heads off and put them in the woods to replicate rape victims. I would often turn up late to lectures after drinking my cocktail of vodka and cider but refused to take any notes and would coast along for three years passing by handing in my old college work and sponging off others. Luckily I am now £21 grand in debt from my time in education so everything worked out for the best and I am sure all this is relevant to the job I’m applying for as…telesales clerk

Software/system skills

I am fully computer literate and often use this skill to download illegal music or watch pirate copies of new films released at the cinema as I’m too poor to actually go myself. I also enjoy making offensive Photoshop’s of people in my spare time, often cutting and pasting their heads on to pornography. Speaking of pornography I am able to access this online but have found myself bored with the more traditional stuff so now tend to look for more extreme options such as Chinese women urinating on each other and beastiality.

Well that all seems above board to me so hopefully after I send this off to a few people then I’ll be in full time employment some time soon. If you will excuse me I just need to go and ring the job centre to see if they have a lost and found box as I seem to have misplaced my dignity there. Let God bless you all and by God I mean the vengeful Old Testament lord who would smite you for being a homosexual or disabled and have his boy nailed to death on a cross to punish us for our mistakes. Smell you later you bunch of fucking nobodies.

Yours sensually,

Lukat.

Here comes success...here comes my chinese rug.

Alright fellas, there was no blog last week as I had no sense of humour so wasn’t quite up to the task of mocking my life. Swimming in a sea of my own despair. No worries this week though, luckily for my readers my existence is getting more pathetic by the second, which is always good comedy value.

I think this is around day 227 of my unemployment odyssey, which is way further than I ever though I’d get without throwing myself in to the canal wearing a concrete duffel coat (like I could afford concrete). For all those street cats out there who know the jive talking, ol’ Lukat has finally reached level 3 on the dole. For the less educated people out there that means I am really...really fucked.

After 6 months of ‘enjoying’ my work shy holiday I now have the opportunity to work...FOR FREE. That’s right now the government has decided that instead of having all these scumbags stealing their new yacht collection money why don’t we just send the smelly bastards out to work full time for their droppin’s. Now that might sound all fine and dandy to the working folk out there...you know how it is...bloody wasters...paying for them to have bloody kids...bloody tax payers expense...bloody pint of union jack please mate. Well I’d agree maybe it would be nice to get some work experience and hopefully get a job at the end of it, after all you guys were kind enough to fund me for my internship in watching daytime TV and masturbating twice a day so why don’t I get out there with my tub of elbow grease. Well you see the thing is I have really been trying to find a job but sadly no one really wants to employ a fine art photographer/writer of erotic literature so I pretty much have the proverbial thumb…up my literal anus…or is that the metaphorical thumb up my mythical anus? Anyway I’ve been running around like a half man half wolf trying to find any shitty job that would take on my slick anus...(woah woah too many bum references here. Let’s clean this right up). To the extent that by the end of last week I was stumbling around one of the roughest areas of Burnley wearing a tight fitting shirt, Cuban heels and a man bag/satchel begging for employment. I was the only white man within a mile and looking like a waiter at a moderately good Italian restaurant, trying my best to pull the traditional ‘don’t stab me bud’ face only to arrive at the destination of my ‘interview’, which was actually some plumbing supplies shop down a back alley where they took my C.V and told me to do one. Here comes success.

I’m pretty much starting to think I am unemployable now. I went to an open interview for a telesales job dressed in full business wear thinking SURELY compared to my fellow dole scum I am a more attractive prospect. Oh how wrong L-Kat was. So I go in there reeling off a list of my educational victories only to be passed up for a chap wearing jeans and trainers who looked like he’d just smoked about 200 cigarettes. PLEASE SOMEBODY…SHOW THIS MAN TO THE HEAD OFFICE…WE MUST EMPLOY HIM AT ONCE. Truly a better man than I, for he had sales experience. He’d worked in a shop for a while so obviously that makes him more able to speak and communicate than the guy with a DEGREE. No worries, not like I’m bitter or anything. I mean it aint like I’ve resorted to begging for terrible jobs that I don’t actually want…out of pure desperation…then still getting rejected in favour of crack heads. It’s not like I’m 21 grand in debt after going to Uni to try and get a decent career…only to find that once I graduated I can’t get a job hassling old ladies on the phone to buy insurance. I mean that wouldn’t make a guy bitter at all, the worlds a great place. La la lahhhhhh.

So basically now if I don’t find a job in the next few weeks they are probably going to ship me out to do 100 hour shifts working in a slaughterhouse. Handling offal with my bare hands for what works out to be 0.0002p an hour and getting a weird skin disease that makes my hair fall out.

But ey…that’s ok...that’s just fine pal. Fine and dandy. You don’t kill of L-kat that easily, the foul stench of despair that I am, surviving purely out of spite. I don’t think making me work for free is bad enough, I think that’s too good for me. I want something worse...I want to sponge bath old people and clean up their faeces for weekly rations of beans. I want to be used as a test subject for dangerous new chemical experiments and I don’t want any compensation when my penis falls off and my blood turns neon green…I’ll be glad for the experience…something to put on my c.v. So so grateful.

Here’s an idea, why don’t you send all us dole scum out to solve the conflict in the Middle East. We don’t even need equipment or any training, it’s not like we’re real people or anything. Just stuff us all in to a big crate then drop us in the middle of the war zone. Might as well put us lazy bastards to some good use, no more sponging off the taxpayers. Now we’re out fighting a war with our filthy, bare hands. We’ll just get some of the bigger lads together and rush the enemy shouting ‘DOLEY DOLEY DOLEEEEEEEE’ and hope they retreat in fear. Watch the terror in their eyes as a bunch of poorly dressed idiots charge them down pounding them with bin bags full of spare change we collected off the floor. We’ll have our dole booklets stamped in blood. If we capture a prisoner of war we shall break him simply by talking about our lack of employment till he crumbles and reveals enemy secrets. ‘ERRR YOU SEE WHAT IT IS MATE..WHAT IT IS..I JUST CAN’T GET A BLOODY JOB..HALF OF EM SAY I’M NOT EXPERIENCED LIKE BUT HOW AM I MEANT TO GET EXPERIENCE UNLESS I GET A BLOODY JOB..IT’S HARD WORK MATE..THEN I’M OVERQUALIFIED FOR HALF OF THESE BLOODY JOBS MATE..YOU KNOW.’ The stench of our cider breath too much for even the toughest of soldiers to handle. Sure some of the weaker job seekers will be brutally slaughtered and ripped in half by gunfire but at least it stops us sponging off the government. Kill us...why not eh...would be a few less expenses then for old Davey Cameron.

If that’s no good maybe the government could sell us to the human trafficking industry. We can be sold as sex slaves to the Koreans. I’ll go and work in a massage parlour giving hand jobs to big businessmen; it doesn’t matter, as long as I get my £52 a week then no worries. If people don’t want to fuck us due to the stench of despair then why not just make us all fight each other for entertainment. Get a TV deal with channel 5, send us all to a big field then have us compete in a fight to the death. It can be like the old roman gladiators, bashing the shit out of each other in chainmail vests with swords and spears. If that’s too expensive just give us a bunch of bin lids and steering wheel locks and we’ll beat the piss out of each other so the richer folk can have a good time. Look at those awful poor people, deary deary me. Maybe even introduce some pitbulls if things are getting a bit dull, there’s nothing that says entertainment like watching the unemployed get mauled by vicious dogs. It’s the laugh riot of the century. Earn your bloody keep mi’ lad. Maybe turn it in to a kind of unemployed big brother. A bunch of us lads off the dole get sent to a council house and each week the general public votes one of us out to go and live on the streets and die homeless. They can make it more competitive by introducing a series of tasks like...who can get the most rejection emails in one day or...who can drink the most scrumpy in the space of an hour. It is TV gold just waiting to happen.

Why not just send us off to concentration camps instead? That would be more cost effective, just get us all in a warehouse and gas us to death. We’re no better than animals anyway, it’s not like we have brains or pay any tax. Subhuman scum. GET A BLOOODYYY JOB…or die. Sell us all to Jezza Kyle for his travelling circus. His whole career is based on exploiting poverty stricken halfwits…ROLL UP ROLL UP…COME SEE THE FREAK…HALF HUMAN…HALF DOLE…THE BODY OF A MAN…BUT THE BANK BALANCE…OF A SPIDER. Good ol’ Jezza is always in need of inbred scumbags, if we’re not ugly enough just expose us to radiation and nock all our teeth out. We don’t need to eat or sleep; we’ll just live in his basement chained to the radiator till he’s ready for us. He can even get some of his high society pals round to kick us in the balls and burn us with cigars for a flippin’ good laugh. The possibilities are endless.

So I would estimate that I have about one or two more weeks left to live. I mean live in a human sense of the word. After the job centre has finished cutting off my testicles and making me swallow cocktails of my own pride then I probably won’t be able to exist in normal society. I will most likely dwell underground in the sewer, speaking to no one but people on my level such as sex offenders and ageing transvestites. Soon I will lose the ability to read or write and will become terrified of the internet and its modern technology. I will cast aside all that I am to begin my new career...using my own hair to mop up piss in the toilet of life…for free of course…I don’t need paying. Why would I?

Big business and more urine based fun.

I just woke up with no pants on and the hairstyle of a man who is desperately trying to hide his baldness. I’m not going bald by the way, that’s the one positive that still makes me slightly attractive to women. Once my hair is gone I imagine my body will disintegrate and gently float away in to the atmosphere. So anyway looking like a sex offender/web pervert reminded me that I should probably write another blog, since I presume that’s what those kind of guys do.

I think I graduated about a year ago so it looks like we’re coming up to the one year anniversary of my unemployment. I tell you it’s been a hell of a year; I’ve met some great people down at the dole office, some real characters. It’s been an experience. The good times don’t look like ending soon either, I just picked up an application form to be a biscuit packer in Nelson but sadly there is not enough room to write down all my art based qualifications which I think would have landed me the job. My search goes on.

Anyway to commemorate this landmark achievement I have decided to arrange an official competition giveaway to all Lukat fans out there. This is your once in a lifetime chance to win various prizes such as signed pages from my job seekers booklet, a binded collection of my rejection letters and emails and last but certainly not least, the opportunity to have a morning pint with me in Whetherspoons after collecting my dole money. You’re paying obviously. All you have to do to have a chance to win any of these great prizes is answer the following questions.

1. What are your bank details?
2. What is your national insurance number?
3. What is your mother’s maiden name?

Send all those answers off with a copy of your signature and you will be entered in to the official Lukat prize draw. Good luck you little bastards.

Now back to business, literally. Since I’m not having much luck in convincing people to employ me as some kind of ‘work based dude’ who could perform menial tasks in exchange for pay, I thought hey L-Kat baby you’re a resourceful man. Why not make your own luck and get started on some new and exciting business ventures. I am a man of the world after all, I’ve been on nights out in Burnley, Blackburn, Colne and Padiham after all, and my travels have brought me much knowledge, insight and also hangovers. Lots of hangovers. In fact just this last week I woke up with a tingling sensation in my legs after ten hours of drinking which I’m sure is a sign of good health in some cultures. If things go well you could well be seeing me in the dragons den, the Chinese takeaway not the TV programme, I always go there when celebrating a small victory (e.g. pulling ugly chicks or pounding on cocky youths).

Anyway here is a series of projects I’m working on and looking for potential investors, so prepare to be blown away by my entrepreneurial skills. I give you the official Lukat 2011 business plan. Now let’s break bread.

Who's your fucking daddy pal?

Well if you want, it could be me? Are you lacking a strong father figure in your life? Maybe your dad is a let down like mine and only turns up to throw guilt money at you about twice a year before vanishing off in to the horizon in his jeans and sport jacket combination. Maybe you find your dad embarrassing or he left town after your mum shacked up with a large Turkish gentleman. Who knows? These things happen. But you need not suffer for it, as I, the mighty Lukat am willing to be your father. That’s right, I have a whole host of fathering skills having passed on my seed at an early age. I can fulfil all of your fathering needs; we can play catch in the yard, share a joke about ‘the footy’ and go on weekend fishing trips. I’ll let you sit on my lap while I tell you anecdotes about when I was younger and read you bedtime stories. I’ll even let you call me ‘poppa’. The current packages I have available will cater to all kinds of fathering needs.

Do you need a drunken angry father? Maybe you invite some of your friends round the house or a new boyfriend? Drunk dad is having none of it, sipping on his can of lager and accusing everyone of being a bloody puffter. The fun doesn’t end there, he’s a super racist too, and maybe one of your pals has foreign blood or even a very nice tan? Drunk dad won’t like that one bit when he gets all hot and bothered about this country going down the shitter. Bloody darkies coming over here on their banana boats eating curry and stealing our jobs. Send them back he says. Send them all back. This is white man’s land. Drunk dad will ruin all your birthdays and moments of achievement. Drunk dad will even slap your mother around for no additional cost. The drunk dad package can be yours for a bargain of £5 an hour. (Alcohol must be supplied separately). BOOK NOW.

Maybe you need someone more stern and judgemental. A man of great morals and strong holy beliefs. Good Christian dad could well be what you’re looking for. His book collection includes two copies of the Bible and three separate editions of Jeremy Clarkson based literature. Church is on Sunday where he plays rhythm guitar in the lord’s band and blasts out numerous hymn classics like he was taking care of business at a status quo gig. He wears stonewash jeans and crocs, he’s the casual man about town and he will frown upon you socialising with friends in a non Jesus based manner. Don’t push him too far though or he shall bend you over his lap and slap thy anus in front of stern onlookers and relatives. Christian dad will send you to your room and prohibit you from having any form of sexual relations until you are 30 years olds. For no additional charge he will turn up at a college house party in his dressing gown and furiously drag you out by your ear telling you how very ashamed he is. Jesus wept.

Christian dad is yours for £6 an hour. TAKE IT. TAKE IT.

Maybe you’re looking for a much more casual father. Someone who barely notices you exist and makes you spend all your time craving his acceptance. He will sit around reading newspapers and watching TV mumbling at you whenever you come home with a big grin telling him all about your day. He’s deadbeat dad…and he don’t give a shit. Your momma wants child support...fuck her...AND FUCK...YOUUU. Deadbeat dad don’t care none, he’s too busy watching planet of the apes on TV. Ask him to come to your school play or watch you take part in sports, FUCK YOU. Deadbeat dad thinks you’re a nobody. For an additional booking fee of £10 deadbeat dad will appear on Jeremy Kyle with you to take a DNA test, refusing that you’re even his child as you sob away in your chair…sat there in his stinking suede jacket with yellow teeth. ‘ERRRR ERRR WHAT IT IS JEREMY…ERRR...WHAT IT IS JEREMY...I JUST DON’T KNOWWW JEREMY…HIS MUMS SLEPT ABOUT WITH ABOUT 50 OTHER BLOKES ERRR SO I’M ABOUT 240% SURE HE INT MINE LIKE BUTTT ERRR ABOUT 156% SURE HE IS JEREMY.’ Deadbeat dad just don’t give a SHIIIIIT.

He is yours for only £7 an hour.

Who’s your daddy? Lukat’s your fucking daddy…for the right price.

Want to kick my head in?

Well now is your chance pal because the good lord knows unless you’re paying to do it there is no freakin’ way you’re giving a man like the Lukat trouble. I’d stomp your feeble ass.

Do you hate me? Or know someone who hates me? Chances are that you do, due to my personality/looks/things I say or do. Maybe you’ve fantasized about punching me in my cocky big nose or pulling my luxurious hair. Well if that’s the case I am offering you this unique opportunity to beat the shit out of me for a small cash fee. That’s right. You can do it in a variety of ways depending on your financial income.

The bronze package.

Here you get to knock me around for a bit in private. It’s a one on one encounter, I will come round to your house and you can kick me in the balls for a while and get rid of all your Lukat based frustrations. To celebrate the event I will supply you with a signed certificate which commemorates the beating you just gave me. You can cherish it forever. Yours for a £2 coin.

The silver package.

For this deal you get to attack me in public, however I must be very drunk. I will take your abuse but at a later date I will deny everything by claiming that I was ‘wankered’ and have no recollections of the event hence belittling the achievement slightly. You still have the advantage of a small audience seeing you pound on me but it will be tarnished by the fact that I am too wasted to defend myself. There must be no attractive women present either or the deal is null and void and I shall have to boot your ears in as compensation. Yours for an astonishing five English pounds.

The gold package.

This is really a top notch deal you get here. Not only do you get to kick my ass in public, but it is during daylight hours and I am totally sober. You get to beat the shit out of me in front of pretty girls who will be laughing at my expense as you shout abuse at me and I cower on the floor pleading for mercy. You get an official Lukat photo shoot to commemorate the event including keychain and postcard. Yours for £10.

The platinum package.

You twat me in front of a large group of people…and I piss myself…literally. It’s that simple. I will urinate myself as you beat me…in front of the general public. You also get a full video clip of the event filmed by one of my associates which I will allow you to tag me in on facebook. Your charge. A straight up £20 and a clean pair of pants waiting for me at the bus station.

Event destruction

Are you attending or hosting a high brow social event and living in fear that you may perchance embarrass yourself or let others down? Do you want someone to relieve that pressure by giving you a guarantee that at any hint that you are experiencing discomfort, they will throw themselves in front of the proverbial train and sacrifice their dignity for your own? Well that person is me. Be it wedding, birthday party of funeral I am your man. I will get wasted and pick fights with your elderly relatives. I will strip naked and try to have sex with any female in grabbing distance. I’ll call your grandmother a bastard then throw a child through the wedding cake. I will interrupt speeches and make racist/sexist comments in front of a large audience before vomiting all over myself and being dragged out by furious family members. I will be your shame, for a price. That price is £5 an hour and as much alcohol as it takes to get the job done. Book now.

(P.S my elite funeral service is now available where I will physically drag the corpse out of the coffin and start an argument with it. This is for a limited time only, due to legal issues I am restricted to the amount of times I can fight the dead. Available for a flat rate of £50.)

The Lukat Love Experience

Do you hate your parents? Do you need the kind of boyfriend that would horrify and repulse said parents? Well Lukat is your man. Any conflict you have with your mother or father will quickly be swung in your favour when you introduce them to your new lover…me…L-kat. I’ll turn up at your house stinking of booze wearing a wife beater vest to give full coverage of my bizarre tattoos. I will mention in the first 5 minutes that I have a three year old kid whom I spawned as a teenager. I will tell them stories of my sketchy criminal past and then get off with you in front of them. I will be present as you tell you parents that you are pregnant after 2 hours of meeting me and you are now dropping out of college to mother my children and move in to a council flat with several Rottweilers.

Or are you an ugly bird desperate to prove to others that you can get a man? Well I could be that man. I give you the official Lukat Facebook package. I will pose as your boyfriend for a period of time including full agreement of the relationship status. I will poke you and leave sickening messages on your profile such as ‘LUFF U BBZ, OMG I MISS YOU, CNT WAIT 2 C MA SEXY BAYBEHH TEE HEE HEE’ and ‘SHAGGIN U LAST NYT WER PROPA GUD HUN I LUV UR FANNY’. I will even use my infamous photography degree to Photoshop intimate pictures of us together which you can then set as your profile picture. You will be respected by your peers and enemies alike, most of whom will commit suicide due to the debilitating jealousy they feel that you are having relations with the sensual Lukat.

Here are the rates.

Stunners- will do free of charge in exchange for a breast grab

Moderate/plain birds- £5 an hour and a drunken fumble

Ugly birds/fat birds- £10 an hour, no touching. I don’t do that anymore.

Oh Lukat you terrible sexist…shame on you…shame on you indeed.

Ladies and chumps if you want to take advantage of any of these stunning offers then apply now. If I get a job in the next week there will be limited sessions (HAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAH). No really on a serious note now send me your fucking money; I’m getting poorer by the second.

Yours passionately.

Lukat.