Globalise the Intifada Tonight

While everyone now hates AI, Kuntwork - of Kunt and the Gang - is embracing it, and I'm all for it!

Also on the subject of Kunt and the Gang: The Reckoning.

Wakey Wakey

Hungover. To. Fuck. Whatever I'd done the night before I'd clearly done it to excess, I felt fucking awful. I lay flat on my back, almost scared to move. I was aware from the milisecond during which I'd opened my eyes that the room was very bright. That was why one of the pillows was now on my head, held down as firmly as I could on my face without suffocating myself. The task now was to lie there until I stopped hurting, or stopped hurting enough to actually move. The problem with that though was that I had time to think, in fact to do nothing else but think. With that came the dread about what I'd said or done that would have upset other people or simply brought shame upon myself. Anything was possible knowing me, which is why I had an apology template good to go on Saturday and Sunday mornings, ready to be sent out en masse to my contact list.

There was no sound, none at all, which was weird. If I was at home there'd be bird song or traffic noise or something, but to hear fuck all was a conundrum. Unless...unless I'd scored which would be a result, however despite thinking I had high standards, even higher when drunk, it was more likely I'd picked up Susan Boyle's lesser sister if I had got lucky. I felt around and nobody else was with me and as my hands wandered I realised that no memories, embarrassing or otherwise, were returning. My brain was as silent as the room. Then another sort of dread starting approaching. A shiver in my shoulders, an uncertainty in my stomach, my heart getting quicker and my toes curling. The feeling was taking me over. I must be dead.

Quite a pisser I thought to myself but luckily there was the upside that for a dead man I was very much alive. I had no recollection of how I expired and to be honest I wasn't sure I wanted any. I was also quite relieved that during the time I'd been frozen I hadn't been conscious. Like the tv show Cold Lazarus or Han Solo in Star Wars. Apparently George Lucas confirmed that Han was awake in carbonite the whole time. Fuck that, it sounded fucking awful. The £250 large it cost for the cryogenic package turned out to be a decent investment. For a long time that money was designated for a suite in Vegas, as many strippers as I had bits of me to put in them and a very immodest amount of cocaine. I figured that it would be the best way to go. While it would have been epic I was pleased with the decision I'd made.

I took a deep breath and removed the pillow. My environment seemed to confirm my theory - a disturbingly clean and shiny room that reminded me of a private hospital. As I sat up hologrammatic fireworks went off in front of me with a welcome to 3029 message. A LOT of years had passed since I'd passed it seemed. I decided to stretch before moving, mainly I realised because I remembered what Uma Thurman had gone through in Kill Bill. Then I REALLY remembered what happened to her in Kill Bill and involuntarily checked my arsehole for damage. It seemed fine, all of me seemed fine. My body was still mine, I had bumps and scars that had always been there but overall it seemed like I'd been upgraded, which was nice.

With the confidence from that I got up and something started playing on the wall, a welcome video by the looks of it. Wasn't really arsed to watch it so I had a rummage through the box of stuff that I'd found on the table next to me. Couldn't make heads or tails of it to be honest so I thought I'd take a stroll instead. The door to my room was ajar so there didn't seem to be any reason why I shouldn't. As I reached the doorway I noticed a mirror and I was pretty pleased with what I saw. I was tall and I was ripped! I looked and felt de-aged which was not something I had ever entertained but was extremely happy about in the moment. I was in a much better place than Uma was, no atrophy or anything like that, quite the opposite, I had a good spring in my step as I ventured out.

Outside the room everything was still hospital white but a likely looking corridor seemed to guide towards a reception area so I decided to go that way. I came to a desk, with an empty chair and something vaguely computery. The room was lined with more chairs which gave me more cause to think that this was a reception area of a medical facility. There was a whoosh and a door opened ahead of me. A nondescript person came through, took one look at me and ran back the way they came. I checked my cock wasn't hanging out, not this time at least, and headed to that door to try and see where they'd gone. It wouldn't open for me, even after I waved my cock at it - worth a try I thought - so I sat down and within a few minutes a white coat came in.

TBC

I Feel Ya Dawg

At some point I'll start putting my World Cup Diary to paper. An eventful month for sure involving crack whores, fuckwit preachers and a sudden panic when the drug dogs were sent to my luggage carousel.

Today isn't that day but a peeve from the trip came during my stay in Houston. Houston is such a silly place. I don't understand how anyone lives there. Go outside and you melt immediately and to get anywhere you need to spend a fortune on Ubers. Had a great time don't get me wrong, two world cup games, partying with the Mexicans, steak at Yard House and visiting NASA, loved it all.

However when I wasn't doing that I was in the, admittedly spectacular, apartment easing down the night with a beer or two and some TV. There was this one advert that nearly drove me to murder and it wasn't only on once, there was a night when it must have played seven bastard times in a row.

Here it is for your delectation:

Even watching it back to write this I feel the rage building. I remember thinking how easy it must be to get a gun seeing as I was in Texas. How satisfying it would be to petrol bomb their offices and watch it all burn.

A friend of mine knew how to sort me out though. He showed me what real problems were, reminding me that wearing a Kilt in Houston and sitting in the sun could and did lead to him having one sunburnt testicle. I had zero sunburnt testicles and suddenly all was right with the world.

Mercifully the next break consisted of ads for Crohn's disease medication (warning taking this may cause Crohn's disease), AIDS medication (warning taking this may cause AIDS) and something about transvaginal mesh. I'd never heard of it before and I don't know what it is. Not sure I want to either.

PS A shout out to @guyfawkes8384 who's commented this on more than one video.

Direct Energy allows comments on all of their videos except the "The Perfect Pair" video. I wonder why that is...

As far as their ads go this is fairly non-offensive, at least to me. Presumably Mr Fawkes is lamenting his inability to make a racist comment on this one, and for that may his transvaginal mesh give him AIDS and Crohn's disease.

@darreneubanks3279 is far more reasonable on one of their vids:

Dawg I can’t even explain how much I hate this commercial

I feel ya dawg.