A note from your Editor, Shagnasty:

Greetings once again my brothers and only friends,

Your regular contributors, as always are: -

Shagnasty	Demonic Dave	Tangent Man
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Enjoy!

Bad MP's - very bad MP's: We've had an election here in the UK, bland politicians abound, but history provides some real characters.

Shagnasty's Rant: They are big and packed with history, but the London Bus is also packed with something else not so nice, "The Great Unwashed"
(Plus a guest readers rant this month.)

Shagnasty's Two Word review: Art - it's bloody well not you know.

Penis Stuff from around the world: This month its Zambia and their rather bizarre love of sex doggie style - literally.

Demonic's Religious Comment: Are Jesus and God such nice fella's? I'd suggest perhaps not.

Rolf Harris: Man or supreme being? Fill your heads with the Rolf you damn heretics.

Shagnasty's Guide to queuing: When it comes to forming a queue nobody does it like an Englishman - disciplined and orderly. Our secrets revealed!

Readers Submission: Despite my best efforts, the Unpleasant Puppet comments once more.

Readers Feedback: Your comments in print.

Sponsors: Another name for advertisements people, well you can't blame me for trying can you?

Monthly thought: -

Vile? - what do you mean vile?

Shagnasty's Righteous Rant
Sorry people but it's got to be done.
The "Great" London Bus

Now I don't want to appear to be a snob here, generally speaking I'm a reasonably down-to-earth and sociable chap - especially with the ladies - ahem, but -- The London Bus, surely the transport of choice for the Devil himself. For it must only be he that could endure joining the dregs of England's capital city coughing, sneezing, farting and looking at you in a funny way for the duration of your journey.
What am I on about, well I had occasion to catch a bus last month, the first time in nearly 6 years, and on boarding I instantly remembered why I had left it so long before I repeated the experience. Can any mode of transport be more disagreeable; it all starts with the bus stop. A concrete post located in the pavement with some sort of encrypted code written all over it, the little old lady also waiting informed me this was called a timetable "but you don't want to take any notice of that love" she added. She was spot on, after studying the code for several minutes I ascertained that I had missed the bus I needed by 5 minutes and would have to wait for 15 more before the next one arrived, at which point two turned up!

Once on I'm starred at by the driver with hate in his eyes as it would appear that of the 10 or so people getting on I'm the only one without a pre-paid bus pass to flash at him as I walk past - he's horrified at the prospect of having to interact verbally with one of his passengers, as this transcript demonstrates.

Driver "What?"
SN "I want to go to the bottom of this road mate"
Driver "Which stop?"
SN "I don't know what you call it, down there [pointing], about 3 miles."
Driver "That's not far, is it worth getting on?" [Fantastic as I found it he was actually suggesting, albeit by posing a question to me, that I get off his bus and stop wasting his time.]
SN "Yes it is, buggered if I'm walking it, how much is the fare?" (Buses are unpleasant, but walking, heaven forbid the very idea)
Driver "60 pence mate" [I produced a two pond coin from my pocket handing it to him.] "do you have anything smaller?"
SN "Smaller than two pounds! Err, I have twenty pence"
Driver "That's not enough"
SN "That's why I offered you two pounds."
Driver "You'll have to owe me the ride - sit down"
SN "I don't think I like the idea of owing a ride"
Driver "Then don't owe me, just sit down"

I recalled the timetable, guessed he was late, and moved to take a seat, which is where the real fun begins. All the seats are arranged in twos, all of which have at least one person already seated, all of whom are starring at me for actually having the bare faced audacity to board a buss with no pass and then compound this heinous crime by not having the correct change, where do I sit? Decisions, decisions, decisions, a sea of depressed faces all looked towards me with "don't sit next to me" written plainly across their eyes. To this day I'm not sure what alarmed me most, the fact that I was condemned to sit next to one of these members of the great unwashed or the fact that they didn't want me too. ME for Gods sake, respectable with a half smile on my mush, and they looked at me like I had just eaten their grannies.

My choices were limited to a small child, no thanks, the little shit might annoy me by asking if I know what Ugomon digivolves into. Similarly I elected not to join the hideously fat woman which would no doubt result in my hanging on to the seat by the very edge of one buttock, for her two were engulfing at least 85% of the double seats. The chap with the Walkman on was a definite no-no, for all I knew he might be listening to Country & Western and the merest sniff of that crap into my ears would result in an ugly incident which we would all have lived to regret, well all except him that is.

My choices being severely limited I sat next to a seemingly harmless lady - whom the instant my butt connected with the seat began coughing and sneezing with all the power of a large calibre hand-gun only pausing to look at me and say "nice weather were having isn't it?" before launching into her symphony of bodily functions again. I dread to think what bugs were bouncing against me from this evil-smelling (for she was!) woman.

Mercifully the trip was a short one, my stop approached and I leapt up and got out with relief oozing from every hole I possess. I skipped across the pavement and leapt into the car showroom and the Audi SE that I had arranged to test-drive. Cranked up the stereo, popped in The Wilson Pickett CD I had brought with me, fired up a Marlborough, farted, and booted the accelerator flat launching myself up the high street at a totally disrespectful speed to the tune of "Funky funky broadway". The look of horror on the salesman's face as I left his sight at speed was only matched by the grin on my own as I caught and overtook the bus full of bodies that I had recently left.

SN…and the politicians want us to abandon our cars in favour of public transport… Nope! Aint gonna happen mate.

Guest Rant
The Following was submitted by reader Ijagannath (I suspect that might be an assumed name!)

I'm not so sure about the rest of you, but I am seriously annoyed by those who don't know how to drive. All of these idiots out there who find it enjoyable to weave in and out of traffic flashing their lights. Using the horn in a "less than directed manner," and anything else that one does to intentionally annoy or interfere with my driving or other road users.
DON'T BE SURPRISED IF I KICK YOU IN YOUR BLOODY BUM!

[SN] Oh Dear!. A better description of the Shagnasty on the road you couldn't ask for. I'm expecting some sharp rectal pain any day now.

Got a rant of your own? Back to Index

Shagnasty's Two-Word Review

"Poncy Art"

"Not Art!"

"I don't know if it's art but I know what I like"
How many times have you said this or heard it said, it is a common viewpoint when confronted with something new and not easily understood, for example, Tracey Emmingtons "Unmade Bed". This is a point of view that I wont be using to describe this particular piece of work as its quite simply not art.
Don't misunderstand me, I'm not some barbarian incapable of appreciating anything new or experimental, indeed I generally prefer modern art to the more traditional paintings produced by the likes of, err, let me think, oh I know, Turner. But, to get up in the morning staring lethargically at your unmade bed thinking how you cant be bothered to make it and therefore having it relocated to the Tate and declared art, doesn't cut it with me. It's an unmade bed dammit. I have one just like it in my house and its not art.

Artists may declare that the art lives within the conception and not the act of creation; "I conceived the idea of not making my bed" might possibly be the war cry - no you didn't woman. I know thousands of kids who "conceive" the idea of not making their bed every day, they also conceive the idea of not brushing their teeth or eating their greens and I don't care if you have the buggers bronzed, framed and plonked on a plinth, its still not art.
I accept that art may not have to live in the act of creation but there must surely be some creation involved somewhere, just taking something that already exists and naming it art doesn't make it so. I'm happy to accept that some bloke hurling paint in a seemingly random manner at a canvas would result in art; it might be crap art but its art. A toilet removed from its packaging and placed on display is a toilet on display - it's not art.

A recent controversial piece or "art" was a ladies photographs of her naked young children displayed in a London gallery - snapshots to be more precise, enlarged to fill a bloody wall, but snapshots all the same. Nothing displayed differed in anyway from the millions of snapshots processed every day for thousands of customers around the world. Indeed the only thing that made them different was the fact that she had pointed at them and said, "art". Err, no! Bloody big photographs of your kids actually, very nice perhaps, but not art.

I would suggest that art creates artists, not the other way around. My declaring myself an artist and simply pointing at something and naming it art doesn't wash. Conversely the instant that my paint touches canvass or my chisel touches stone the act of so doing makes me an artist, in my case it would make me a crap artist, but nevertheless an artist I would be. An artist can point all he likes at the numerous mundane items displayed around the world, all purchased for thousands of pounds, with people paying to see them - its still not art.

"Persuading seemingly intelligent people to pay for it, and others to look at it however...
...now that's art."

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Doggie style
Africa is seeing a bizarre increase in cases of bestiality.

- - - - - - - - - - - -
By Jack Boulware

Feb. 28, 2001 | Travellers planning a trip to Zambia should take note: Leave your dog at home. For some unknown reason, the nation is seeing a bizarre increase in reported cases of bestiality. A man in Livingstone, Zambia, was recently found with his pants down, having sex with a dog in the early morning. A worker at a learning institution was discovered to be carnally involved with a pig. And a current in flagrante delicto situation finds a 25-year-old man enjoying the coital pleasures of a dog in a toilet of Lusaka's Misisi Compound.

"It is hard to come to grips with this phenomenon because women in Zambia outnumber men by almost 3 to 1," a Lusaka psychiatrist told the Panafrican News Agency. "You do not need to go far and you will find a woman."

The 25-year-old didn't find a woman. He found a dog. The animal's owner, Mr. Banda, spent several nights hearing his dog making peculiar noises from the toilet. And then one night he awoke at 1:30 a.m. to the sounds, and was convinced the dog was in pain. He burst into his bathroom to witness the scene and turned the man in to police.

The official inquiry was difficult, because the man was both deaf and unable to speak. But he did manage to admit that yes, he had boffed Banda's dog on several occasions. Officers charged him with bestiality, but then three days later, released him back into the world of animal temptation.

"My dog loved this deaf person very much," explained Banda. "Each time it saw him, it began to behave oddly towards him. He was always playing with it. I started suspecting something but it was very difficult to approach him because he could not hear and speak."

The case has attracted attention from deaf organizations, which claim that police didn't call in a sign language interpreter, and that the courts should treat deaf defendants with better care. But a neighbour of the accused dog-sex enthusiast had a unique perspective that summed up the situation: "Having sex with a dog on several occasions is a sign of failing to talk to girls or women."

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Demonic Dave's Religious Comment.
DL Theme Tune
5.1Mb zipped MP3

"Jesus"
Was he actually such a nice bloke?
+
God's view on the death penalty
(Some quotes from the bible that the Pastor at Sunday School may have forgotten to read...)

Demonic operates outside of the control of the POC, he alone is responsible for his comments.

Jesus on his part to bring peace on earth.

"Think not that I am come for peace on earth: I came not to send peace, but a sword. For I am come to set man at variance against his father, and the daughter against her mother, and the daughter in law against her mother in law"
This is from Matthew 10:34-35, it's just a little different than the Jesus portrayed in Christmas Carols and in church, huh?

Jesus on church, and those who attend.

"And when thou prayest, thou shalt not be as the hypocrites are: for they love to pray standing in synagogues and in the corners of streets, that they may be seen of men."
I wonder why preachers never read this quote from Matthew 6:5 and then tell their congregations that they are all hypocrites?

God's View on the Death Penalty.
(Basically if you so much as fart this dudes gonna kill ya)

A bride who cannot prove her virginity on her wedding night would be put to death. (Deuteronomy 22:20-21)

Kidnappers would be put to death. (Exodus 21:16)

Any wife who cheats on her husband, and the man/woman with whom she cheated with both would be put to death. (Deuteronomy 22:22)

If a virgin woman is promised to a man, and loses her virginity to another man, they both would be put to death. (Deuteronomy 22:23-24)

Any man who accidentally kills a pregnant woman while in a fight would be put to death. (Exodus 21:22-24)

Any rebellious son, or any person who disrespects their parents would be put to death. (Deuteronomy 21:18-21, Leviticus 20:9)

Any person working on Saturday (the Sabbath) would be put to death. (Numbers 15:32-36)

Anyone who takes God's name in vain would be put to death. (Leviticus 24:16)

Any person who is not Jewish or Christian (worships other gods) would be put to death. (Deuteronomy 13:6-11)

Gay men would be put to death. (Leviticus 20:13)

Has he missed anyone out? - doesn't look like it does it.

As the whole world knows the English really know how to form - and hold - a queue. Some tips therefore, from a bloody expert.
Lets face it, most of Europe are undisciplined animals when it comes to forming a queue, savages isn't too strong a word I think. Brits, like me, on the other hand are respectful of the queue and know the tips that make it easier to bear and remain in control. As always I share with you my fountain of knowledge so you may climb slowly but surely from the caves in which you no doubt dwell. (SN ~ Arrogant? Me? - no mate, just evolved)
*Wiggle Your Ears* Bank Holiday Gridlock at the Post-Office counter? Tense muscles are what leads to tension headaches. If there is no ibuprofen in your pocket try pulling your ears lightly in circles in opposite directions for a count of ten. This motion moves the tentorium membrane (something in your head!), which can relieve stress. OK, you'll look a right twat to others in the queue but you'll outlast the buggers.	*Contain the Odour* With whims of the weather and bloody French air-traffic controllers on strike again!, a 1-hour wait can turn into a 12-hour sleepover at terminal 2. Without showers, you're stuck with deodorant and mints. Eating peppermint or cinnamon can help mask body odour because the scent will come out in your body oils. Head this tip well or you'll smell like a bloody French air-traffic controller.
Keep Everyone Under Control Hours spent sitting on the tarmac make everyone edgy. If you sense someone is loosing it, start a conversation with the Welshman (for he surely will be Welsh) to refocus his attention and keep the frustration from spreading. Remember you're English - others will look to you for inspiration when in a queue - behave accordingly.	*Get some air* Panicky people hyperventilate because they are breathing too fast - meaning their blood is loosing carbon dioxide. Use this trick to stay in control; breath in whilst pinching one nostril shut. This forces you to breath more slowly because you cant inhale as much air through one nostril as you can through your mouth.
*Teach your bladder Patience* Call of nature tighten the muscle to stop the flow. Hold it for ten seconds, then release and repeat for a set of ten. This strengthens the muscles in your pelvic floor and should relieve your urge for at least a few minutes more allowing you to remain in line longer than most.	*Stare* Try focusing on just one thing. Staring at a single object helps prevent your body from producing too much adrenaline and so keeps you from panicking as you approach the end of the queue.
Note for those not fortunate enough to be English: - Psychological studies have shown that people are more likely to complain about someone pushing in the middle of a queue than the very front. If therefore you are a foreign type and cant bear the queue any longer, make a bee-line for the very front. You stand a better chance of getting away with it.
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Shagnasty's July 2001 "The POC"
Issue Sixteen (16)	Release Date: 1st July 2001		© PenisOwner.com 1996-2001
Welcome to the World Wide Family of Penis Owners. Not a member? Welcome anyway but you can join here, if you want.
Previous Issues		Legal Stuff

Shagnasty's Righteous Rant Sorry people but it's got to be done. The "Great" London Bus

Shagnasty's Two-Word Review

Demonic Dave's Religious Comment. DL Theme Tune 5.1Mb zipped MP3

God's View on the Death Penalty. (Basically if you so much as fart this dudes gonna kill ya)

The House of Rolf

Shagnasty's Righteous Rant
Sorry people but it's got to be done.
The "Great" London Bus

Demonic Dave's Religious Comment.
DL Theme Tune
5.1Mb zipped MP3

God's View on the Death Penalty.
(Basically if you so much as fart this dudes gonna kill ya)