Week two hundred and five - February 2012

Why does New York always feel hotter or colder than it actually is. In summer 80 degrees feels more like 100 and in winter 10 feels like minus 10.

This is the only place where my ears feel like they actually might shatter. And it makes your beard look 20 degrees more ginger. Still mustn’t grumble. It’s New York at least.

Here are some bits and pieces of paintings I did in oil of my favourite city by the way.




I’m no Turner, but it’s so much fun to just slap it on and see what happens. I paint like a cat. Ha ha.
My beautiful bear Stan made the papers. His death could actually help lead to the freedom of many of his kind. He’s like my very own William Wallace.
Talking of Braveheart, I’d fucking love a few bears to get medieval on those fucking cunts that torture them for fucking Chinese cunting medicine. Cunts. (Did I say cunts already?)
Had to explain on Twitter that the word “cunt” wasn’t specifically aimed at women who are cunts, but actually more often than not aimed at men who are cunts.
It is also rarely used to describe any “lady parts” despite its obvious derivation.
In America it is a very very bad and usually misogynistic insult.
In Britain and Australia it can even be a term of endearment.
A policeman in Scotland once stopped me and said, “Mr. Gervais, aye you’re a funny cunt.” I said, “Oh cheers.” He should know. He’s the law.
Here’s a little interview I did about offence, twitter and dwarves by the way.
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goddam ricky!!! these
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