Glasgow Necropolis Gravestones

Most people think graveyards are dull and depressing, but what do they know?

Here are some of my favourite gravestones at the Glasgow Necropolis:



Apparently Jesus finished all the wine. No wonder he gave up the ghost, i would too. (Or was it vinegar, i forget. Most wine tastes like vinegar though so who cares?)

This next one appears to be some sort of Nazi Angel with her tits out. Note how she is also covered in bird shit. Classy...



This next guy is pretty hot for an Angel:

Of Unsound Mind

EK Diamond
Department of Psychiatry
Glasgow
14th August, 2009

Dear Cabbage Cat,

Diagnosis: Of Unsound Mind
Treatment: Here, take these pills

Further to your recent appointment, i can confirm that you are as mad as a money on a tricycle. I have referred you to my colleague Dr Caeser Titts for further assessment. We look forward to seeing you in due course.

Yours sincerely


Dr Diamond
Consultant Psychiatrist

Glasgow vs the Gaza Strip

I once heard that the life expectancy of someone living in the East end of Glasgow is less than that of someone from the Gaza strip. If smoking, drinking or drugs don’t get you then a knife wielding Ned probably will. In horror movies the baddie is always some formidable stranger with a mask and enough discretion to get away with it. In Glasgow, it’s usually a track-suited Ned looking to rob you for his next £10 bag of heroin and he is quite happy to do this in full view of CCTV. It is unclear to me whether this is because they don’t care about being caught or they know the Police can’t be bothered catching them.

It is also my belief that potato waffles are partly to blame.

Lunch-Time Liberation Army

My name is Cabbage Cat and I am the leader of the Lunchtime Liberation Army – a movement for the abolition of working through lunch breaks. Unions fought for us to have this luxury so be sure not to waste it. Remember, this is the year 2009 and gone are the days of slavery. We do not get paid for working through our lunch breaks and you can bet your bottom dollar no one will thank you for it.

It’s time to say NO! Liberate yourself from the shackles of work for at least 1 hour* per day. Go for a walk, feed the pigeons or just hide in a toilet cubicle so no one can find you. This will leave
you feeling more alert and better able to hide from your managers and/or inept colleagues.


*Disclaimer: In the interests remaining gainfully employed, the Lunch-Time Liberation Army does not recommend taking an hour for lunch if your employer only allows 30 minutes.

Personal Space - Glaswegian Style

Glaswegians have no concept of personal space. Join a queue in Glasgow and you're guaranteed to feel some freak's breath on your neck. Maybe i'm on the autistic spectrum but i hate people i don't know touching me.

I was in line at Asda once and almost ended up giving a piggy back to the Scummy Mummy behind me, she was standing so close. I could have brained her but unbelievably 'Asda Radio' started playing ‘Don’t Stand So Close To Me,' by The Police. The irony was obviously lost on this limpet who was piling Irn Bru and potato waffles onto the conveyer belt. And they wonder why the West of Scotland has such high rates of obesity and cancer.

Glasgow Neds

Let me tell you about the Glasgow Neds. They are a breed far apart from you or I. They come in 2 sizes – the ultra skinny ones with sunken faces (usually referred to as ‘Junkie’ neds) and the enormously fat ones who survive mainly on take-away food. Both breeds dress exclusively in tracksuits and fake designer gear from the Barras. They like to tuck their trousers into their socks – not because they are cycling enthusiasts, but so they can shoplift and safely stuff their loot down their trousers. Charming, no?

They talk out the side of their mouths in a whiny, nasally voice and like to punctuate the end of every sentence with the word ‘man’. They are inarticulate, ugly, rude and stupid. They are proof that the human race is de-evolving and yet they continue to breed indiscriminately. God help us all...

Haddows

I went into Haddows for another 6 pack of beer. Sure I was already drunk but I wanted to keep my buzz. Inebriation land here I come! It was one of those Haddows that kept their employees in cages like a human zoo. You were never sure if it was to keep the staff away from the customers or vice versa.

I waited a few moments for an enormous neddy woman to emerge from the back and serve me.

“Eh, a six pack of Stella please,” i asked and off she shuffled.

She scanned the bar code into the till. Thank God for technology! If she had to type the price into the till with her huge fat fingers, it would have cost me £33849.09. I also purchased the obligatory 20 Richmond Kingsize and some Highland Papers.

Hot Piss and Kebabs

"Whatever I do, I do not Repent.
I Keep Pissing against the Moon"

I drank until i was inebriated - whiskey, beer and sugary alco-pops. My liver was fucked so what difference would it make if my teeth fell out as well? Fuck it!

I remember stumbling along Waterloo Street, squinting through my alcoholic haze. What time is it? How did i end up here? It must have been after 2 but the streets were still busy and bustling. Living dead girls lined the pavements - the girls with sunken faces and yesterday's make-up. Waterloo Street was like the Barras of Pussy. Roll up! Roll up! Get your hole here!

"'Scuse me misses," said a whiny voice approaching to my left. "Spare any chaynge?" I staggered on, only a little less worse for wear than this toothless prozzie. Hurry, hurry Mrs Murray! Diddy rides, 2 for a tenner!

I was dying for a piss. My hamster bladder just couldn't take all the booze i had consumed. I was too sophisticated to piss up an alley so i tried to cross my legs and walk at the same time. Shit, why did i have to have that last beer? I could've afforded a taxi home if it wasn't for that stupid pint!

Finally my flat was in view. I reached the front door and fumbled drunkenly for my keys. The second i opened the door, that very second, my bladder gave up on me. Hot urine exploded to the floor and once i had started i Could. Not. Stop. It felt fucking great and i had already reached the point of no return. aaahhhhhh....

To this day that front porch honks of piss but what the hell? The whole of Glasgow reeks of hot piss and kebabs anyway.



I categorically deny all rumours that I pissed myself on my front porch. I still contend that Glasgow honks of hot piss and kebabs. Fact.