21 Mar

Dear Sir or Madam,

As we are leaving uni this spring, we are forced to look for ways of earning money that don’t involve prostitution, watching the Simpsons, eating, showing people our new pants on skype, shouting at rabbits and whining about how hard life is and how we need to stop drinking. After a particularly severe two-person anxiety attack, we joined a self help group to help us prepare for life outside the walls (of our flat). When you’ve talked about your week and how immensely difficult it has been, you’re allowed to get yourself a cookie. They’ve taught us valuable life skills we’ll need as we enter into proper adulthood like how to iron shirts without making them even more wrinkled when you turn them over, and Mara has finally learnt what spoons are, because they don’t have them in Germany. In preparation for the job interviews we most likely won’t be invited to, they gave us a list of questions that we might be asked. Here are our answers to these questions, which we think will pretty much guarantee success.

1. Tell me about a big mistake you have made.
In response to this question, weep. Like so:

2. Tell me something about yourself that I 
wouldn’t know from reading your application.
“I can’t read.”

3. When was the last time you surprised 
“I realized that chewing on your fingernails goes much faster if you just cut them off and sprinkle them on your cereal. I never knew I was such an innovator.”

4. If you had an extra hour in the day what 
would you do with it (excluding work or 
In response to this question, say “spend it with you” and leer suggestively.

5. What energises you?
“Naked park runs, they are also very good for your immune system.” Alternately, “electric shock treatment”.

6. Describe a situation where you had to deal with someone who didn’t like you. How did 
you handle it?
“I slept with them. They like me now.” (PRO TIP.)

7. What is the best criticism you have ever 
received from anyone? What did you do 
about it?
“You would look better with a penis. In response to which I grew a penis.”

8. Can you tell me about a time when you have had to make a decision with incomplete information?
“The time I slept with someone who had chlamydia.” (I thought he only had syphilis.)

9. Tell me about a time when you demonstrated good oral communication skills.
In response to this question, giggle.

10. Tell me about a crisis you have had to deal 
In response to this, cry again, and babble something about the mirror, or just say “THEIR FACES WERE MELTED, JOHN. MELTED!”

11. Can you give me an example of when you have done more than your duty in order to provide a good service to someone?
“I gave him a hug after he paid. It was only fair, he was crying.”

12. Tell me about a time when you had to give feedback to someone on their performance in a task.
“I once laughed at someone’s performance. Unfortunately he took it rather badly, put his trousers back on and left. I learnt a lot from this experience and next time, I will be more clear in my feedback.”

13. What was the last book you read for pleasure?
“Is Tight Magazine a book?” Alternately:

14. What’s your favourite film?
“Masters of the Universe.” Save the trailer on your phone and show it if they ask you why.

15. If you were an animal, what animal would you be and why?
“A praying mantis because they eat the people they love and absorb their power.”

16. What is the best shape for a manhole cover? Why?
“Manhole? As in anus?”

We hope this will prove to be helpful to you all.


The Tesla / Mark Twain ship and the fanfic we are currently writing about them. Stay tuned, bitches.


The future, looming over us like a geezer in a wetherspoons. Creep.

We hope to hear back from you soon.

Sincerely Yours,

Your mother and your father.

There’s a lot of things have happened since you and I last met

7 Feb

Hello hoes and boats. We refuse to apologise for our prolonged absence, but our literary manager insists that we need to explain it.
Basically, whilst walking down the road, Johanne was hit by a horse cart, like Pierre Currie, but less radioactive. (The horse cart was actually Pierre Currie shaped, which is an odd shape for a horse cart.) She suffered severe amnesia, and didn’t remember Mara. Mara spent the past six and a half months trying to win her heart again. Mostly she fed her cheese so she would be too fat to find someone else, but when she sang Don’t You Want Me by the Human League, the memories came flooding back.

United at last! The severe brain damage Johanne suffered barely shows on her face.

But this is not the only developments that we have kept from you for all this time! Mara’s breasts have gotten bigger:

And so has Johanne’s bum. Johanne has now achieved personhood, her lack of arse was the only missing component. Note the sexy socks.

Unfortunately, the doctors where unable to stuff the hole in Johanne’s head, and she now has to wear this hat at all times to protect it from the elements and sticky child fingers. Like in Joe Dirt, that touching film about the stigma that comes with having a mullet.

Don’t judge. Mara got lonely sometimes. That’s okay.

Especially because Johanne resorted to physical violence after discovering Mara and the light switch in flagrante delicto.

Unfortunately for Johanne, Mara recently took up boxing.

In order to participate in the class, she purchased this arm. And these trousers! Which we will now review.

For some strange reason, our repeated requests for more trousers did not result in even one lousy pair of pants. We decided to buy these ourselves, hoping that the quality of this review would entice other trouser producers to send us some for free. Lookin’ at you, OnePiece. If you happen to know an American Apparel sales dude, please forward this review for their viewing pleasure. The trousers are the high waisted ones. You know, the ones that are high in the waist. These ones. We want more ones. Preferably pistachio or indigo pink. G’wan.

They look really good with these 90s knot things and a bit of fat poking out. Ooohhh yeah. Mmmfat.

This is Mara wearing the trousers. She likes them.

This is Johanne channeling her inner late 90s Britney only not hot.

This is Mara skateboarding in the trousers. We’ve got footage of this if anyone is interested. It’s worth watching, especially the moment when Mara’s tits fell off.


Valentine’s Day. Because all the red balloons are sold out, and we were intending to recreate the music video for 99 Red Balloons next Tuesday. Not because no one asked us out, we have hordes of admirers. Don’t be discouraged though, you can still get a date with one or both of us. There is a small chance we might pick you. It’s about as likely as winning the lottery, but it’s always worth a shot. Send us a CV with a photo and a list of reasons why we should pick you, preferably in video format. The shortlist will be posted on our blog and we will let our readers decide.



Mmmus. And hummus. Us with hummus. Usmus? Mmm.

So long, poopy heads.

PS: here are Mara’s new nails. They came with the first– no, we’ve made that joke too many times.

PPS: We are self-referential and cool.
PPPS: It’s funny ’cause it’s true.


Come with us, let’s be dickheads!

21 Jul

Hello cunts. We have decided to address you thus, as we have been told that titfaces was a bit harsh. We have received a bit of attention lately, which we love. Unfortunately, it was negative attention, which, though also excellent, is not quite as good as the blatant adoration to which we have become accustomed. We would like to address a few points raised in these comments.

Firstly, we were called wankers. Johanne thinks this is unfair, as she hasn’t masturbated in two days.

The next point we wanted to address was that… No, actually. We would respond to the comment about us being self-indulgent, but we are too busy indulging in ourselves. Mmmmmus.

Mara has to go do her homework for Central St. Martin’s and sort out her fixie bike, and Johanne has to email the pop-up secret warehouse theatre she volunteers for and practice playing her stylophone. Being a dickhead is HARD!


We had a letter in the mail, apparently from the police. It says:




At flat __ ____ house, ____ Street, LONDON is operating a BROTHEL. Every day lots of guys coming in and coming out. Also, lots of used condoms can be found !!


Every time, when you see strangers who are coming in / coming out from or to flat no __ – call 112       THEY CAN BE INFECTED!

You can send a compliments to:

Brick Lane Police Station

25 Brick Lane

London, E1 6PU”

The flat mentioned in the letter is the flat next door to ours. The police (or, the people who found the metropolitan police’s logo on google images and pasted it into a word document) must have the wrong address, as the likelihood of two brothels existing in such close proximity is doubtful in the extreme.


This is what we wore today. Mara:


Johanne looks a bit tired, she just hitchhiked back from Malmö, she went to check out the local cartoon themed crochet nosewarmer scene.

WE HATE: Irony. We don’t understand it, being foreign and that. Is it produced in abundance as a result of fusion in high-mass stars, where the production of nickel-56 is the last nuclear fusion reaction that is exothermic, becoming the last element to be produced before collapse of a supernova leads to events that scatter the precursor radionuclides of irony into space?

WE LOVE: It’s too obscure, you wouldn’t have heard of it.

XXX yer mum and yer dad. Who are really infants, apparently. Complex stuff, this time travel business.


20 Jul

Hello again, you titfaces. Mara and I have been separated by many service stations and cows, but now we are reunited. Mara enjoyed the solitude, going out for dinner on her own, talking to herself, reading porn, picking her nose, cutting her toenails on the table, using dry shampoo… Johanne got drunk in Kent, and doesn’t remember what she did, only that it did not involve cutting her toenails.

On Saturday, Mara was on French TV, with the lovely Naomi, Jenny and Hanson (referred to as Benjamin Button by the obnoxious French tv presenter). They had to pretend to have afternoon tea at nine in the morning whilst the shop owner (Oli, you’re purdy like a flower, a pirate-y flower) stood outside in the rain to avoid being filmed. The temperature inside was about 30 degrees warmer than inside, making everyone sweat attractively.

Whilst this was going on, Johanne tripped over a stone bench on the beach promenade in Hastings, split her eyebrow, grated excess bits of face off against the pavement and hurt both her knees. But Johanne is a big girl and didn’t even cry very much after her mother got her a Thomas the Tank Engine plaster.

Back in London, Mara did fun things. During the Chap Olympiad, God decided to do a big wee on England. Mara wore a regency dress with Doc Martens. Some people made fun of her, but they were clearly unaware of two key facts: everyone wore Docs in the regency era. Austen was a big fan, she had the white ones with flowers and shit on them, also, the shoes were steel enforced, and Mara could have kicked some serious arse had she felt like it.

ALSO: CHAP MAGAZINE, you owe Mara a fucking umbrella! Someone thought it would be amusing to use her umbrella during the jousting , leaving it a crippled mess. Now it’s in a tiny umbrella wheelchair, unable to take care of itself, dependent on Mara’s help to complete even the smallest task. She has to help it to the bathroom when it needs to do a tiny umbrella wee. THE INDIGNITY.

Meanwhile, Johanne was in hospital having her face sorted out. She got a blood transfusion from a goat (Sussex hospitals are surprisingly primitive) which might explain her current behaviour. She also got a nose transplant. Unfortunately, they were out of human noses, but a badger was kind enough to get run over, and luckily he had a donor card, so Johanne can now walk with her head held high as she has finally got a nose.

Mara also managed to talk about the creepy man with the infantile girlfriend in front of a running camera. Coincidentally, the camera belonged to his production company. Then there was drinking, glittery cupcakes, more rain, and more drinking. After the Olympiad was over, they went to a nearby pub where Mara thought she could mix wine and gin without getting drunk. She did, which resulted in her falling stepping on the hem of her dress and falling on her bum in Tottenham Court Road. Then she stole the chairman’s pith helmet.

Here is the chairman, sans helmet.

He clearly needs it. Here is a picture of Mara, avec helmet.

Mara has got three thumbs. In the background: Rodge the Stodge.

So, here’s the deal: unless our demands are met, we will cut the hat up into teeny tiny itsy bitsy pieces and send it to him with the first post. The post that hurts the most.




Hookers and blackjack

Some of that beautiful green moon money



More cheese

A tricycle, for Mara

A space hopper, for Johanne

An inflatable boat

Knee socks


Bunting for our flat

Eyebrows for Mara, as she waxed hers off in a fit of pique. They were being uppety.

She is closer than ever to becoming the doppelgänger of her idol, Mr Malkovich.

Mara also made the acquaintance of fellow athlete Mr Henry Ball, who, like us, has got a fan page on facebook. Unlike us, however, he has got a collection of novelty lighters. Golf themed ones.

Here he is, trying to throw a child into the air as per Mr Langlois’ suggestion. (Mr Langlois, we still love you, and you look sexy in a raincoat. Not many people do. Well done, sir.)

Look at the kid, he’s clearly enjoying himself. (Picture stolen from Charles, the one with the awesome clothes and the unhealthy obsession with academic robes.)

THIS WEEK WE LOVE: CHAMPAGNEEEE! Especially Moët et Chandon Rosé. It makes us happy. And sleepy. Bitches, where is our free champagne? And the Bing Bong Brothers.


THIS WEEK WE HATE: Hastings pavement, and Gene Simmons.

Stay tuned for exciting news, bitching about our pet Aleks and her boyfriend. Also, Mara will tell you all about her exciting meeting with someone famous who shall not be named. YET.


(those kisses are only for our lordly readers, mind!)

Yer mum and yer dad.

If you like pina coladas and getting caught in the rain we don’t want anything to do with you

10 Jul

Hello bastards.

First of all, we would like to thank Mr Sam Greenslade for our very first death threat. He also wrote us hate mail, but we have already received copious amounts of hate mail (mostly from our own relatives and Mrs Langlois) so it’s not like he’s being particularly original.

We are still waiting for that elastic band. And Johanne actually really needs a paperclip to pick the lock of her room as she is locked in and communicating with Mara through a tin can phone. Inspired by our fellow bloggers, we would like you to know some key facts about us as we are terrifically interesting human beings. We were worried that this might ruin the mystique, but since we make a habit of running around London in our pants, there isn’t really that much mystique (or dignity) left to lose.


1: Mara is a pseudohermaphrodite. This common anomaly has been corrected as of last year, when Mara went swimming for the first time and realised that not all girls have willies John Thomases one-eyed trouser snakes peni. Unfortunately, the loss of her tadger also made her lose the ability to grow an impressive Prussian moustache. 

This is what she used to look like.

2: She used to eat paper. Not just the occasional secret missive or napkin, whole books, dictionaries and phone books were her favourites.

3: Mara has a bionic nose. That’s why it’s so big and sexy, to cover the bionic bionicness underneath. Local legend to many, she has been walking around shooting laser beams from her face for years before it became fashionable.

4: Mara is getting married soon.


1: Johanne is the man in the Battle of the Bulge photos. She does not actually have a penis (though she has been told that it would suit her) she just wanted to know how Mara’s pre-op life must have been like. She enjoyed it. A lot. Heeey ladies.

2: Johanne suffers from several neuroses and phobias. Leguminophobia (the fear of baked beans) being the most severe, requiring her to be sedated or at the very least cuddled intensively for several minutes if a can of baked beans is opened in her near vicinity. You can only imagine what her life was like during the time that dreadful ad with the baked beans in egg glasses was shown in cinemas. She also has an unhealthy obsession with the human digestive system.

3: She was a virgin once.

4: Johanne is getting married soon.

On a completely different note, we love facehunter for posting pictures of beautiful asian women in furs.

But why oh why (ohio) does he keep posting pictures of homeless people? This man is clearly forced to take all his belongings with him wherever he goes, here shown with his impressive/excessive collection of combs.

This man looks more like your average neighbourhood hobo.

But a hobo who reads, as he has clearly been inspired by this touching tale of acceptance and self-discovery and normal discovery and redemption and faeces.


Because our mummies have told us off for being so negative, we will not tell you who we hate, but offer some constructive criticism.

Dear Baron Oakeshott of Seagrove Bay,

We much appreciate your hospitality, but where is our fucking orange juice? You do realise that we might get scurvy from a lack of vitamin C? We would also like to inform you that the view from the bedroom on the top floor of your house is rubbish, and that you might want to reupholster the furniture in your living room. As this is a fashion blog, we would also like to inform you that we admire your steadfast commitment to your glasses, as they are seriously sexy and retro chic.

Yours sincerely,

Mara and Johanne


PS: Is Seagrove Bay like Geordie Shore?

PPS: Do we really have to end every letter to a lord with XXX? We followed the instructions on this site, but it does seem a tad disrespectful to force ones kisses upon a rt. hon.

We could offer more constructive criticism, but we don’t care sufficiently about the people who need working on to bother beyond the occasional “please shower for the love of God” and “there ARE things you can’t do you mediocre excuse for a human being” and “please stop talking, you are lowering the IQ of the entire street”. To be fair, we do tend to aim all these comments at the same person.

Pip pip, ta ta, toodles, fare well, ramalamadingdong,

Yer mum and yer dad.


My hump, my hump, my hump, my lovely little lumps (Check it out)

3 Jun

(We don’t know what that means, but it’s provocative.)

Hello again. Since none of you poofaces responded to our poll, we considered telling you to eat your own facemeat. Mmmfacemeat. Instead, we will cruelly exploit our flatmate Peter in order to get your attention.

Dr Peter Howarth has been living with us for 15 weeks and four days. Despite his propensity for mindless violence and pissing on Johanne and her belongings (especially her bed), his stimulating conversation makes him the best flatmate we have ever had. This is how we found him:

We wanted a bunny for a long time (20 minutes) before we finally made the decision to go to Asda to buy one. As it turns out, Asda only sells badgers and minks. We were so disappointed we ran blindly into a retail park, intending to get lost or stabbed or worse. We only managed to get slightly lost and rained on. Luckily, we saw this:

Photo stolen off of Terry Richardson’s blog. We still hate him, though.

This poster was put up by an unemployed single rabbit mother, and in exchange for helping her find her ovaries, she gave us her firstborn son, Doctor Peter Howarth PhD.

This is a picture of Mara carrying a box. This isn’t related to this story in any way, Mara just really likes boxes. Look at how happy she is with her new pet, Foxy Boxy. Unfortunately, children are fucking stupid, so they kept asking her what was in the box. “NOTHING YOU FUCKING CUNTS”, Mara said sweetly, making at least a dozen children weep. This only increased Mara’s general feeling of well-being. Don’t be confused by the cage in the bottom left corner, that’s just where Foxy Boxy lives. The cage was about ten times as expensive as the box so at first we didn’t want to get one, but then again, we didn’t want Foxy Boxy to shit everywhere.

Here is Doctor Peter, doing what he always does: preparing to release torrents of piss onto some unsuspecting victim.

Here he is preparing for a lecture. He is a professor of English Literature at some super fancy university. He hasn’t told us which one, but we guessed that it was Oxford from his Bullingdon Club uniform and posh accent.

If this doesn’t get your attention, you are dead inside. RESPOND TO OUR POLL. And please vote for the equine option, as we have already made the costume. Johanne has never looked so good.


The fact that we still haven’t got any free stuff even thought this blog has existed for over a year. Apart from that roofie. But that doesn’t count! GIVE US FREE STUFF!


Breasts. They’re so in this season. Here worn by Aleksandra.

Oh, and you can add Peter as a friend on facebook. You can also “like” us. Which is better than actually liking us, as you don’t receive notifications when people like you in real life. You can ask for it in writing, but that tends to be a bit awkward.


PPS: Stay tuned for a makeup tutorial, our horse costume, and more pictures of Aleks’ breasts. Pip pip.

PPPS: Post post post scriptummmmm. Mmmmpostpostpostscriptum.



I want to lay you down on a bed of roses (ow!)

2 Jun

Hello bastards! It’s been a year since we began our career as full time bloggers, and we’re happy to announce that because of you, our three fans, we can now make a living from being vulgar and annoying.

Firstly, we would like to announce that Lisa is the winner of the Battle of the Bulge, and she will receive the surprising surprise prize in a surprising surprise box at a surprising surprise location (possibly her workplace, as we use items similar to the contents of the surprising surprise box at work every day).

Speaking of which, today we went to the New Sheridan Club meeting in order to catch up with our good friend Bulgy McBulgepants (literally). He was wearing a different pair of trousers, but the bulge was still clearly visible. In addition to meeting Mr Bulgy, we also managed to offend the two brave souls who attempted to engage us in polite conversation. As is well known to our friends and known associates, we are inept at both politeness and conversation, so expecting us to be able to combine the two might have been overly ambitious. First, we would like to apologise to Mr Clayton Hartley for any trauma he might be experiencing after our never-ending duologue about carpentry, serial killers, wizardry, people being shot in airports and the lack of rain in the UK. (Duologue is a perfectly cromulent word!)

Here is Mr Hartley wearing raw meat. Mmmrawmeat.

We would also like to apologise to Robert Evans for staring at him and saying “I know” after he introduced himself to us.

Here is Mr Evans wearing a pin stripe suit and a toupée. Mmmtoupée.

That said, we were saddened and enraged to find that no one actually recognised us even though we have been cursing the NSC events with our presence for the past year or so. Mara put a lot of effort into that lobster hat, and Johanne has been working on her creepy witch laugh for years now, to NO AVAIL! To avoid being remembered as the nutters who have a favourite serial killer, we are going to dress up as other people for the next meeting.


A horse, Johanne will, of course, be the arse.

Thomson and Thompson from Tintin

Giles Culpepper (because he and Mara both look exactly like Austin Powers) and Mr Torquil Arbuthno (because he always gives off the impression that he is drunk, and so does Johanne) from the NSC.

We will let you decide, but we think the latter option would be better, as it might lead to a Marx Brothers mirror moment.


This week we love: Albert Fish

He is our favourite, child-eating serial killer. Mmmchildren.
This week we hate: Bon Jovi. SO MUCH. Especially his stupid hair.

(Photos of NSC members are stolen from the NSC flickr.)

STAY TUNED for more serial killers, more dill, and more Mr Tristan Tesla. <333333333


XOXO Yer mum and yer dad.

We believe in miracles, you sexy thing

5 Feb

We were going to write about how sexy Nikola Tesla was. All right, we are writing about how sexy he was: he thought women were going to become the dominant sex, he needed everything in his hotel room to be divisible by three, he was a vegetarian and he was terrified of dirt! And he was celibate! Clearly a sexy beast, as proven by this comic by Kate Beaton:

But apparently, this other person has written a blog about the sexiness of various dead men, and she mentions Tesla. So we had to come up with a new concept. We have decided to reveal Tesla’s secret: he resented the fact that his brother was just as sexy as him, so he created a time machine, travelled to the future with his brother and left him behind.


LOOK! Tristan Tesla was lucky to find the New Sheridan Club, other people might have found him slightly old fashioned. (How dare you suggest this is a really weak excuse to post pictures of Mr Langlois? It is a feasible theory.) Want proof? All right. Look carefully at Mr Langlois’ pretty face. Then look at Mr Tesla:

They are obviously related! They’re both pretty and they’ve both got excellent facial hair. Mmmfacial hair. We could provide more evidence to prove our theory, but you lazy bitches can do your own research. If you don’t believe us now, you are what is known as a NON-BELIEVER, which means that you are a cad and a blackguard and will burn in hell. Which is even worse if you’re English, we know you people can’t take the heat. Unlike Germans and Norwegians, who are famous for getting awesome tans and never going bright pink and sweaty whenever the temperature rises above 10 °C.


WE LOVE: Dill. It’s so fucking tasty. It’s one of Johanne’s five-a-day. The other 4 are also dill. Here’s a picture of dill for your viewing pleasure:



WE HATE: Mould. You can’t eat it, it eats you. Or your dresses, anyway. Curse you, mould. Here’s a picture of mould:

We’re not scared Mr Langlois will find out about this. How likely is it that he’ll google mouldy dill, or how to cook Tesla with dill? He might google himself though. Then we’re fucked.



yer mum and yer dad.

I’ve got something to put in you

4 Feb

Hello, followers. Sorry for the long absence, we had stuff on. The result of the poll was that we should stalk our estranged flatmate’s boyfriend. Unfortunately, he’s hideous, so we can’t be arsed. Mrs Langlois, watch out.

This Wednesday, we went to the monthly New Sheridan Club meeting. Mara is a member, and they have yet to realise that she is a blackguard and a silly person, so they haven’t kicked her out yet. On the way there, we met one of Johanne’s lecturers. He was also wearing tweed, so we thought he might be going to the NSC as well. Actually, he was going to Holborn (who goes there? British Museum was closed by then!) and didn’t even say hi. RUDE! Shame on you, Dr Guy. (His name is actually Guy. He is awesome.)

But before we could leave, Johanne needed to shave. She could have left it for another few days, but she wanted to look extra pretty. Not that there is anything wrong with the sleazy Italian waiter look, we like sleazy Italian waiters. (No we don’t. They like us. Don’t send us sleazy Italian waiters in the mail. For god’s sake.)

Unlike Johanne, Mara is pretty bad at the whole facial hair thing. These eyebrows are painted on. With teeny tiny paint rollers.

At every New Sheridan Club meeting, there is a talk about… stuff. We haven’t been to that many. This time, the talk was given by a girl who looked like Peggy Olson (the one in the red cardigan in the background) and was about the wives of Richard Burton and C. S. Lewis, and because she didn’t have time to talk about Eleanor Roosevelt, she gave away a biography about her, provided that one could guess the number of pages in said biography. We guessed 45 and 10 000, respectively. For some reason, the book hasn’t arrived yet, perhaps it got lost in the mail. ALSO: Fleur was there. She’s pretty like a flower.

Mara wore her pretty dress (SHINY!) which she got for Christmas from Johanne and our pet Aleks. You know, the one with the breasts. She’s not your garden variety pet, oh no.

Here is Johanne’s sexy face. This is how she gets all the girls. She wore her only 40s suit. Since she’s only got the one, she wears it every day and it’s getting pretty smelly. Luckily, we sleep with our clothes on in water so that our clothes will stretch out so we can breathe in them. Note: this only works in warm water. Which can have horrible side effects, as illustrated here:

Also, Marat is almost called Mara. He would be less cool than Mara, but he wears a turban, so unfortunately he wins. Luckily, he’s dead, like everyone else who dares to be cooler than Mara.

ALSO THERE WAS A MAN WITH A MASSIVE TROUSER TYPE BULGE. WHAT THE FUCK? Just to be clear, that is not a willy. That is a soft table leg, a pillow, a pair of tennis socks or a parasitic twin trying to escape. SO, THREE READERS: What do you think this hideous bulge is? The best answer will receive a SURPRISE PRIZE in the mail.

Incidentally, this bitch stole Johanne’s t-shirt. If you see her, punch her in the face. With a shovel. Or another blunt object, we’re not particular. As well as this awesome SURPRISE PRIZE, you will receive more pictures of THE BULGE. We’ll call this the BATTLE OF THE BULGE! If you want it, please submit your answers within the week, as we have nothing on next Friday and we’d love to stay in and blog about THE BULGE.

WE HATE: This douchebag.

He photoshops himself into twilight or whatever the hell this is supposed to be, and claims that “fashion is not view of how expensive an item but how expensive you make it look expensive.” Thank you for that pearl of wisdom.

WE LOVE: The tweedclad gent in Ground café on Queen Mary Uni of London campus. He had tweed spats, which automatically makes him the best dressed man in Mile End. Call us? We don’t care if you’re bald and kind of old, tweed is sexy. If anyone knows who he is, let us know in a comment. He wears glasses and a hat, if that helps. And tweed. TWEED!


Yer mum and yer dad.

“If I died / Yeah would you come / To my funeral / Would you cry?”

15 Dec

It has recently come to our attention that our obsession with Mr Langlois has become generally known. Meaning, his wife knows. We would like to apologize to his wife and congratulate her on the excellent cut and colour of her apron. If you’d care to look out of the window, you will see us in the bushes. Mara is on the left, Johanne is on the right. We have considered the matter carefully and come to the conclusion that our obsession needs to be transposed onto someone else. We considered Michael “Atters” Attree for about three and a half seconds, but decided that he is far to scary. Also, Mara once touched his leg (don’t ask) and is not eager to repeat the experience. This far, our options are:

You have until New Years Eve to vote, after which the stalking will commence.

We also have three announcements to make:

1: We are going to appear on The X-Factor whenever that crap starts up again, performing this:

2: We now have a fan page on facebook, made by someone who obviously loves us very much. We’re flattered.

3: Johanne has bought new socks. They are green. We thought you should know. Mara has got grey ones, her mum made them. They are nicer.

4: Also, Johanne spent four hours researching, and eventually she found out that you can make penguin and shark icons appear in facebook chat. It is amazing. Following this discovery, Mara got kicked out of the computer lab at university.

5: Johanne wants a space hopper. They are GREAT. We saw this porn film once about this Australian gent having a go on a space hopper in the jungle, so they clearly have multiple uses.

WE HATE: Victor Stone, because he probably doesn’t even exist like Doctor Best. Bastard. And because of their stupid wonky Christmas tree, prevented from falling over and breaking the window only by the clever employment of a very thin thread and (for some incomprehensible reason) a pencil tied to a reception desk entirely devoid of receptionists. It did have a ratty old newspaper though. It was very nice.

WE LOVE: Prosthetic limbs, especially shaped like starving children like in the 70s adaptation of A Christmas Carol. (About 2:30. The best moment of any film ever.)



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