Friday, 26 June 2009
Secondary School I.T. lessons were just an excuse to do nothing, or catch up in the wasteful hour on homework due in for the next period... well that was the case at my school (also called the Pikey Dump) I remember being taught where to place my fingers on the keyboard I still know that but everything else I learnt from "eating chicken and chips and going on msn" as Afrikan boy would say.
God bless you Year 10 I.T. of doss magic, the throwing of various shit at each other, tasty gossip i.e. figuring out whose going out with who or who got caught with whom dry sexing on the grotty acidic stained 'I Luv Billy 4eva 01' tables in the science rooms and my personal favourite wondering how whats her name managed to "wipe the wrong way" after being told of dubious stains and smells in the cooch department earning her the name 'Feaces Flange' (as she was so kindly dubbed by a friend and I that used to be inseparable.)
However, the best was finally realising the magic of the Internet... searching for stupid things on the net like those ring tone codes you could type into your Nokia 3210, (I had the Ruff Riders Anthem *cough*) actually that was bangin, I want that monophonic kick ring tone back!
This is by far the best of it though, AMAZING. I read it again with fingers toes and hair (platted) crossed in hope it would still be as hilarious as it was when I was 14, and omg YES. I fucking LOVE 'Black People Love Us!' if you have never see it... where've you been and for those of you that have... take a walk down memory lane at some of the sheer genius from this amazing oldschool website.
I wish I had remembered this website when that prick from uni decided to argue with me about the fact that he felt that HE was completely warranted to grope MY hair and give me an S.S. style interrogation on just why my hair was as it is...
"Johnny calls me "da man!" That puts me at ease. It makes me feel comfortable, because I am Black and that's how Black folks talk to one another."
"Sally loves to touch my hair! She always asks me how I got my hair to do this. That makes me feel special. Like I have magical powers!"
"Sally and Johnny are always going on and on about how Tiger Woods changed the face of golf, and the Williams Sisters changed the face of tennis! On and on...like, almost for too long!"
Check the testimonials, nuff people getting upset. I love the slow witted, they're always amusing times.
Thursday, 25 June 2009
This ones a warning to every fucker who feels the need to piss any of us off today:
ONE Love. x
Wednesday, 24 June 2009
Katie Price/Jordan (who ever the fuck she is today) is a DICKHEAD
No need for me to recap the latest shenanigans following her recent break up, but I just want to say a big HA HA HA to all the ladies who thought she was a 'shrewd business woman' and not an awful, inconsiderate, uneducated slag.
How can you write a biography in your twenties? All you've ever done is get your tits out and shag Z-listers. I've had better reads in club toilets.
To everyone giving her props for her various 'empires' I hope that you can see now that the moment she ignores her management (the real brains behind her success) she manages to spoil all these years of unwarranted fame in one week.
SHE WAS NEVER CLEVER INNIT!
Peter, enjoy your impending super stardom.
Tuesday, 23 June 2009
Twitter Teleporter – so’s I can send stuff, real solid stuff, through Twitter. Because I’m always hungry and people are Twitting about buff food and I NEED them to send me some. Oh but can it have some kind of breathalyzer attached so’s I don’t twit myself into MC’s rooms when I’m drunk and try and rape them up?
Hover Board – I’ve been waiting for this ish since Back to the Future part 1. I’d look sooooo cool on a flying board with my retro kicks on. GET ON IT!
Magic Glass – so that I can, at the press of a button, make the back window of my car say “IF YOU GET ANY CLOSER TO MY CAR I WILL BITE YOU IN THE FACE – Beeeliieee dat” Oh, and also a massive mallet on a spring like in cartoons so that if they ignore me I can shoot it out and punch their windscreen in.
Hummm…. I can’t remember any more right now, will get back to you.
Thanks in advance – holla if you need me to get you some sticky back plastic or a pritt stick to aid the process.
Sunday, 21 June 2009
Why are we still using Fassybook? I won't lie, I like a good stalk of an ex or that bird whose Heinz sponsored skin makes me wonder if my already brown skin needs more sun attention but I would feel so much better about subscribing to it's constant stream of shit (with people now becoming fans of air, water and breathing) if all of that bullcrap was wrapped in this neat package... We're all cunts.
Honestly wish FACECUNT was real I've tried signing in and everything...
Hmm signs that I need a job and more of an eventful weekend right hurr.
Friday, 19 June 2009
We won't be able to kick anyone in self defense if we ever get chased down the road and neither will we be able to play 5 aside football on a Sunday afternoon but we WILL be able to say "Oi you lot man, you wanna go for coffee after we get a pedicure and our toe nails did?"
Thursday, 18 June 2009
1) You need to get out more
2) You need to get laid
3) You have too much free time on your hands (try putting that to use and get to know your hoof)
4) You have not yet experienced the sheer unadulterated liberation that comes with sporting your very own camel hoof.
If your answer is 4, allow me to be of service.
I know you may find camel hoof a bit intimidating at first, but once you catch a glimpse of your defined labia in all its glory, and feel that 'it hurts a bit but in a good way' sensation... you'll be wondering why it took you so long to get on the hoof wagon.
To ease you in gently, follow my three step 'Beginners guide to hoof' plan. This plan will enable you to perfect your hoof in the safety of your own home.
Let us begin...
Step 1: Find an old pair of thin jersey bottoms, (PJ's work best)
Step 2: Put them on, and stretch the sides up all the way up onto your shoulders
Step 3: Find a mirror, and admire your hoof in all its glory (if it burns a bit, you got it)
Once you feel comfortable with your hoof, go and buy some leggings (the tighter the better) and pull them up high. This look is best pulled off with a screwface and heels.
Mix things up a little with different fabrics, Jeggings, wet look and animal print work well, but don't forget to have the Canesten to hand.
Now you're ready to hit the streets, go and show the World what you've been hiding all this time.
Wednesday, 17 June 2009
Just got back from Spainland and feeling a lil' hazy.. but I feel to start a discussion.
We all harp on about guys with manners, you know, the ones who hold the door open for you, the ones who say please and thank you etc.
When we do find one, we're like "oh em gee, he's so sweet, paying for dinner, not drop calling me so I call him back" and so on.
Alas, what a dilemma we are faced with when we get the text:
"Thanks for tonite, cant beleeve we had dinner their. Your quiet good at pool too, although I think we need a re-match 'cos I can't be loosing to a girl! I'll be in touch in the week when I'm not so unorganised"
Now, I don't need to go into detail about the numerous mistakes in that example. This isn't a spelling bee, and I'm not expecting every man to be the next Stephen Hawking (although he is a buff ting) but seriously, am I the only one who thinks that bad grammar has a direct correlation to being a wasteman?
Maybe I'm a complete bitch, and maybe I don't care. But what would you rather, a guy that knows how to use the English language, or a guy that holds the door for you?
I'm sure there are many men who can do both (holla at me, yeah?) but if it came to the crunch - which one is more important to you?
I'd like to end this with an excerpt from one of my favourite hoof anthems..
"Go read a book you illiterate son of a bitch and step up your vocab"
@LoukiaC Bless, Genie told me bout the interview but right now I'm very busy and can't. Love u all and one day we can make it happen ;)
Still would get it 1000000000% though - if you need a baby mama - holla, PTC have a selection of multi-cultural beauties for your every womb requirement.
What I'm currently doing: Planning to become a WAG (Lend me your Juicy anyone?), talking about rude boys with red-eye in stolen whips that end every sentence with the word "still", promoting hustling on the streets and prostitution, advising everyone not to stay in school and not go to Uni, sending gay emails, listening to Cat Stevens, drinking the world's strongest coffee, planning my pregnancy by an MC, stalking Collie Buddz and finding ways we can get him on the blog, trying to find all the slags that Collie Buddz has touched and eradicate them from the face of the Earth, discussing rum shots, wallowing in my lack of responsibility, thinking of ways to accidentally rob a bank, tweeting profanities and other such good things in life.
From the Pum Tang Clan I'd like to just say babez we love you... one if not all of us would be more than happy to walk around your yard bare feet in a moo moo heavily pregnant with your child.
You are the light of our life and you can give us all the green you like to shot for you... we'll grind in your videos and cut any bitches that try to take you from us. We urgently beseech your twitter attention so you can realise just how endearing and fucking awesome our vagetastic camel hoof movement really is.
Please be our baby daddy, invite us to Bermuda to jam with you then serenade us with your sweet sweet dancehall flavour.
Playing rounders in the park – actually, maybe I’d rather play basketball because although I’m well shitters at it (due to my sports apathy) it does seem to attract the most lush men. Footballers pale in comparison to a 7foot tall ‘Baller’. Ooh Wee. Plus the outfits are better.
Listening to these three tunes on repeat – Cam’ron – Silky, The Lovely Shystie – Pull It, Skepta & Giggs– Look Out – while chain smoking Marlborough Lights and practicing my skank in the mirror.
Stalking my ex boyfriends on Facebook/Twitter/Myspace – and hoping that they aren’t happy in any way and that if they do have new girlfriends that they are ugly and shit in bed.
Online shopping – because I’m too lazy to hacktually drag my ass to the shops and try shit on. I’d rather wait for it to arrive and hope it doesn’t make me look like Bianca Jackson holidaying in Ayia Napa as most of my clothes usually do.
Writing this blog, sat at my incredibly messy desk, drinking green tea – apparently it can shift my thunder thighs in time for holiday. Doubtful.
Tuesday, 16 June 2009
As the lone male voice in the Camel Hoof movement, I come before you bearing a message of great wisdom from a world of glorious hollyhock scented pum pum in which you will never know. No I am not the chosen one nor am I the "les-bro" messiah who has come to lead you misguided souls to this Island of amazonian hood rats . Contrary to popular belief I do not have all the answers , but I do know one thing. If ever you desire to see the promise land of pum, you need to DEAD the word swagger. If you have any sort of respect for yourself , you will shove the word in the closet, handcuff it's hands behind it's back, tie a rope around it's cock & balls and let it die of auto erotic asphyxiation in a hotel room somewhere in Thailand.
The clan has spoken and they see right through that insecure confidence and over inflated sense of self importance. They know you are overcompensating with brash bravado to make up for the size of that half eaten Tic Tac you refer to as your penis. They know you were the morbidly obese kid in the high school that got his tits pinched by the footballers because they thought those 45 inch nipples of yours would produce rice milk, strawberry Jello, or a delicious custard of some sort. IT IS OK.
However, it is not OK to marinate yourself in a bath tub full of AXE body spray and Old Spice Swagger before you hit the pub.club, disco, or local brothel (even hookers have standards). The fact that any girl with half a brain and a decent sense of smell can pick up your aroma from 4 blocks away should be an indication that you are putting a little to much effort into the concept of "cool". The thought of some honky in an all weather purpose du rag and a 4xl Averix jean jacket (sorry Westwood) using the word in every other breath is truly a slap in the face to the forefathers of cool. Can you imagine Miles Davis, David Bowie, Prince, or even someone like Mos Def jiggin over to the dance floor, creeping up behind the first fat ass in a pair of heels he sees, and whispering "What it do ma...i gotz dat swag" in the ear of a poor drunk soon to be rape victim?
As a man I do understand the importance of confidence, bravado and preserving ones ego. But, as SMART man I also understand the concept of reality. The reality of the situation is that most men who feel the need to write SWAG across their foreheads in permanent marker, are either remarkably delusional, self absorbed or an insecure fuck boy who spends his parents hard earned money on buying The Pum Tang Clan round after round and shot after shot. You can pop champagne all night long and drape yourself from head to toe in the finest Ed Hardy/Affliction rhinestone t-shirts you can get your grubby little hands on, but wallowing in your own "swag" and looking like Jim Jones WILL NOT get you anywhere near the pums of my fellow staff members.
That is unless you are in fact Jim Jones, in which case all my fellow staff members would more then likely fuck you. Well not Yasmin...she is more of Juelz Santana fan
Monday, 15 June 2009
Cool, so yeah, we've seen her desperate attempt for album sales including the above haircut and the 'unfortunate' (and not at all contrived) photos of her Party Pieces being leaked. Popular (to some) American TV personality La La Vasquez has now jumped on the bandwagon and shaved half of her empty dome too.
She posts on her twitter that Cassie started "The Movement" (The Movement being the side-shave) and she has done a "La La Remix".
*Cue all trendy Shoreditch gals who've been rocking the side shave since morning to be riddled with anger at this statement*
Don't worry trendy ladies, I know you lot started it, I've got your back, but it begs the question, what next hairstyle should our trendy british ladies rock before it gets stolen by an untalented american fuckwit desperate for some kind of niche to make themselves relevant?
Well I've taken it upon myself to bring some slept on styles to the table.
1. The Mullet
Can't say I'm not surprised that someone hasn't picked up on this one yet.
2. Vivienne Westwood's Colour Job
You can't really get more british that Auntie Viv. I'd love to see that wastegirl Cassie try and pull off bright ginge.
3. Ashanti's sideburns
My personal favourite.
This style is perfect for girls who are low maintenance and/or a tad hairy. If unfortunately you don't have incessant hairgrowth on your face, this style can be easily recreated by using an eyebrow pencil to create the illusion of shadowed stubble in the sideburn region.
Friday, 12 June 2009
PUM TANG CLAN REMIX = "CASE OF THE HOOF"
"What you gonna do when you can't say no and the HOOF starts to grow boy I really need to know..."
PUM TANG CLAN REMIX = "BIG HOOFIN'"
"Big Hoofin', wearing G's(trings)"
PUM TANG CLAN REMIX = "IN THAT HOOF"
"Tell me is there anymore room for me, in that HOOF..?"
PUM TANG CLAN REMIX = "WHO LET THE HOOF OUT"
"Who let the HOOF out? HOOF! HOOF! HOOF! HOOF!"
Calling all producers with studios and ting, dont be selfish fuckers,
FEEL FREE TO ARRANGE STUDIO TIME FOR US YEH?! Thanks :)
Leviticus 11:4 (King James Version)
"4Nevertheless these shall ye not eat of them that chew the cud, or of them that divide the hoof: as the camel, because he cheweth the cud, but divideth not the hoof; he is unclean unto you."
Really God?! Well I don't even believe in you so suck out! About unclean. KMT. Our camels are fresh as a daisy.
Thursday, 11 June 2009
"OH, IT'S MY SONG!"
YOU ARE NOT A DRUNKEN, SWEATY UNI STUDENT, YOU ARE THE GIRL OFF THE VIDEO, THE POPPIN' LOCKIN' FLY ASS CHICA THAT WILL GRIND YOUR HOOF ON ANY AND EVERY MAN SHUFFLING AROUND ON THE DANCE FLOOR.....
(two hands up if you know all the words!)
Cameltoe, chaffing, cystitis and thrush are no longer secret and shameful panty pastimes, they are FINALLY something to be celebrated. I like to think of this blog as our very own revolutionized version of the vagina monologues. The only difference is that our anecdotes would be performed as rap videos rather than monologues. You know, the kind with big, silky muscular men in chinchilla coats, bouncing cars, crates of Cristal and all of us cameltoe hoes in cameltoetastic diamante thongs and nipple tassels. My life officially just got better at the thought of this.
I never thought I’d finally find an outlet where I could openly talk about what has now become the satisfying sensation of my panties raping my pum-pum. I never thought that I’d finally be able to discuss the times where my knicker-eating coochie pars me. The moments on the train where you can sense the person in front of you trying their very best to avoid looking at your pelvic area. Or even better, the times when there’s a pervert sat in front of you who is openly drooling directly at your snatch and the fact that it is distinctly separated, enticing the voyeur, welcoming them inside. And yet here I am honoring camelhoof far and wide.
You might think the most common victims are very often gymnasts or dancers with their leotards and tights but these days it’s regular girls like me and you who walk around in desperation to look the bufftingz who fall prey to the intangible hoof.
Someone once told me that there is nothing sexier than a curvaceous girl wearing tight trousers to show off her batty and hips to potential fuck buddies/rudeboys (aka the loves of my life). Being one of these curvalicious Mediterranean girls myself, (unfortunately not in the way that my sexual homegirl Shaniqua Latoya on the banner of the blog is), it became my sole purpose in life to find the world’s tightest jeans and in turn become the sexiest peng ting the world has ever seen. I found out that my wit, intelligence and charm were not what I needed to impress a man; all I needed was my pum pum, my bum bum and my titties. In my plight I discovered leggings, hot pants, cycling shorts and suddenly I found myself in bars manifesting my open lovebox to the world and yielding better results than I had anticipated.
So you see, camelhoof is something we should all embrace. It is proof that we are trying to make ourselves sexy for the man dem. And they love it.
Here is the evidence:
An official survey carried out on one pervert, by yours truly about 5 minutes ago, came out with the results that although it might not look so purdy you can't deny that “man just sees it and thinks rah, I wanna mash dat.” I for one DEFINITELY wanna get mashed.
Cameltoe hoe till I die.
We recruiting...pum pum only yeah?