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My favourite site of the moment - I'm a fickle bitch, however - is Not Proud. It lets you anonymously confess your sins! Brilliant! No paedophilia-related sins are permitted, mind.
So whether it's lusting after your step-mum or putting clothes on a crucifix to keep little Jesus warm, the place to tell is here!
See if you can guess mine!
Uncouth world: this is my gripes of wrath; hear me roar.
You know what really grinds my gears? Today, it's bands with seemingly randomly generated names. Snow Patrol, Artic Monkeys, Starsailor - all REAL British bands with terrible names. It makes me sick. I mean, Snow Patrol for Allah's sake? You can just picture them sitting in their university common room, going, "Let's put random words into a hat. The first two pulled will be the name of our band! It will be great! Then we can get drunk from non-alcoholic grape juice!" Rooster and Black Eyed Peas are also a load of rubbish. They may like to think they're the shit, but in fact they're just shit.
Then there's Keane. What's that all about? Is it a bastardisation of the word 'keen'? Is it their initials? Please don't tell me, because I'm not dying to know. Furthermore, don't get me started on their lead singer. Ok, everyone disses Pete Doherty for being a cainer, but at least he's a bit interesting. Bands like Keane are just so unbelivably dull. The biggest scandal their tour resulted in was some T-shirts left on the back of a coach, which Pater Newsblog happened to be given. I want tales of chinky whores ODing in bath tubs, I want goats ritualistically slaughtered in hotel rooms, not curly locked mummy's boys drinking Ribena and drowning in their own melancholia. Now, if they drowned in their own vomit, I for one would be a lot more interested.
Anyway, band names I do think are good are as follows. You will probably think they're a load of cack, but you can go forth and multiply you sad tossers.
The Killers
The Rolling Stones
The Clash
Stiff Little Fingers
Motley Crue
Pussycat Dolls (ok, so it's a bit pop bitch, but at least it's provocative)
No Doubt
That's basically all I can think of anyway. I won't even bother asking you to add your own favourite band names because I know none of you will. You're just *take take take* you are.
Channel Porn has gone to predictably low depths this week in their Dark Side of Modern Love season (weekdays, 11pm). Last night's documentary focused on one of the few remaining taboos of modern life, the clandestine pupil-teacher affair in Sleeping With Teacher.
It included an interview with the montrously creepy music teacher John, 43, who now lives with his former pupil, Claire, 16. He claimed that she had sent him a text intended for someone else by accident one day and he 'worked out who it was'. They then began texting each other regularly, although 'it was nothing sexual'. The relationship quickly progressed to something far more serious - Claire will give birth to their child in two weeks' time.
The most perverted part was how young Claire looked: much younger than 16. Her mother has revealed that she had encountered 'trouble' all through school, so John the lecherous piano man had obviously targeted someone he knew was particularly vulnerable, with low self-esteem he could easily take advantage of.
The programme also included the story that caused mass hysteria among the tabloids: the case of Lucy Hayward, an English teacher and mother of two, who received a prison sentence for sleeping with a 15-year-old boy. Although he was never her pupil and supposedly seduced her, Hayward has been socially excluded and unable to find a job anywhere. Seven years has passed, and she is still on the sex-offenders' register. Nevertheless, she remains unrepentant.
Tonight: Fatal Attraction - the consequences of one night stands. And it's not just Herpes you'll worry about after this.
In 1993 three eight year old boys were found brutally mutilated and murdered in West Memphis, Arkansas. Shortly after three teenagers were arrested and held responsible for these disgusting crimes.
Jason Baldwin, Damian Echols and Jessie Misskelley Jr. were convicted of the murders in early 1994. Police officers are said to have forced a confession from Misskelley, who is mentally handicapped, after subjecting him to twelve hours of questioning without legal aid or even parental consent. They audio-taped just two fragments of the questioning, totalling 46 minutes. Jessie conceded later that evening, but it was too late.
Although there was no physical evidence, murder weapon, motive or connection to the victims, the prosecution used the boys' black hair and clothing, love of heavy metal and Stephan King novels as evidence the boys were sacrificed in a satanic ritual. Echols was sentenced to death, Baldwin received life without parole and Misskelley got life plus 40 years.
Over the last twelve years The West Memphis Three have been held captive for crimes they did not commit, according to supporters. Echols waits in solitary confinement for the lethal injection; for the other two life imprisonment is all they have to face.
There is a glimmer of hope. New evidence, including extensive DNA testing, is being collated, and a new trial set in motion. Whether a full aquittal is reached or a new conviction, the truth will one day out: there will be justice for the victims.
See www.wm3.org for full details.
Last weekend, The Sunday Times Magazine published excellent reports by Jeremy Clarkson and AA Gill of their visits to war-torn Iraq.
The picture they draw is one of ubiquitous devestation, where insurgents lie in wait with rocket-propelled grenades and anti-aircraft missiles, and you risk being beheaded in front of a webcam if you leave the safety of the Army compounds. Iraq is not the cosy, revolutionised land Blair and Bush would have us believe, but a guerilla-infested apocolypse where 25 serious incidents take place in Baghdad a day. There are also 350 roadside bombs and 20 car bombs detonated every week in Iraq, and one American killed every eight hours. Once every four hours, one of them has a limb blown off.
The intrepid wannabe war reporters even had to travel by car along the road between Baghdad airport and the Green Zone - which is said to be the most dangerous in the world. Sorry Newsbloggers but I'm just not prepared to do it.
During their brief stay, Clarkson and Gill were fired at in a helicoptor, mortored twice and raked with fire from a DShK 12.7 machine gun.
The Americans live in Saddam's former palaces and the Brits in his private brothel, 'Maud House'. As Gill points out, "So who's the daddy and who's the Yankie bitch?"
Saddam's $2billion underground nuclear bunker is at the heart of the Green Zone. It was the first target of the conflict, and was barely damaged. Built by the Swiss and Germans, the lavishly designed bunker is now looted and smashed, with blood on the walls and bullet holes throughout.
The British troops remain in remarkably good spirits, many seeing it as a challenge they must simply get on with. Unlike the dry, typically introspective American soldiers they have learned to cope by using humour: all the streets at their base have been affectionately named after Monopoly board creations, for example. Also unlike their American counterparts, the Brits can be trusted with two beers a day.
Disgustingly, as Clarkson points out, our troops are given just twenty minutes a week to speak to their loved ones back home, while a murderer gets thirty minutes. The men often carry out sixteen hour shifts and must sleep in twelve man tents with no air conditioning - that is reserved for the base's sniffer dogs.
Saddam was undoubtably an evil dictator; but surely this kind of anarchy is of our doing.
See www.timesonline.co.uk for the full reports.
Novels including The Da Vinci Code, Angels and Demons and Deception Point by American author Dan Brown have dominated the bestsellers list for much of the last few years.
Falling for the hype gullible Newsblog Ed went straight out and bought The Da Vinci Code and Angels and Demons - and loved every smug, overblown moment. In the style of any airport thriller, the books are nothing special, except of course for the conspiracy theory-style content, unashamedly engineered to court controversy - but they are annoyingly compulsive; quite probably the crack of the literary world: guilty, filthy pleasure.
Each plot involves some kind of ancient cult resurfacing to plot against an evil and controlling Catholic Church, a murder and a path of clues for Robert Langdon, the protagonist who knows everything, to follow. And there's always a beautiful, foreign lovely for him to come onto as they encounter a series of highly improbable coincidences and save the day.
Some of the writing is so cliched it's laugh out loud funny, and the way 'unknown' facts about everything have been self-gratuitously placed, as though everyone conspired to keep it all secret until Brown came along, is also highly amusing.
All in all, the books are like a cheesy Sunday afternoon movie: silly, enjoyable and contrieved. They are also the perfect remedy to most of today's profanity and sex-filled books. Ok, they are highly blasphemous, but at least they have got people intrigued by the mystery of religion again.
I have come to the conclusion that Richard of Richard and Judy superstardom really is a bit of a pervert.
He goes out of his way to ask interviewees all manner of sordid and embarassing questions, and does so with a lechy smirk. He never fails to come out with some sleazy remark, while Judy just sits by and watches the toe-curling scenes unfurl. She really is the Rose West to Richard's Fred.
Madeley: Lechy smirk
Hehe, juuuuust kidding, Newsblog God 
What is it about the Post Office these days?
Not content with letting you collect your pension/dole/whatever benefit, post parcels, buy stamps and shi*, they seem determined to grab market share in other areas such as car insurance, house insurance, life insurance (notice the theme developing here
, holiday insurance as well as any other insurance, pension, credit card, loan or bullshit financial product you can think of. (Like no one else is selling any of this crap
.
Now this wouldn't be such a bad thing, they do in fairness reach parts of the market other providers just well, may not reach. Still, the thinking behind the whole evil scheme seems to be "well if we can just pinch 1% of this/that/the other market..." - the sort of revenue stream crap that got so many dotcoms in the soup. Maybe I'm just wrong or cynical, but personally, if I want to buy car insurance, I have a look around for an "insurance company". One that sells insurance, and not stamps. Somewhere perhaps like a "bank" or "building society", or heaven forbid, an "insurance broker". Now, theres a thought.
This doesn't even touch on the mesh bins full of plastic rubbishy toys and DVD's you will never have heard of (the 50p bargain bin, only with less stuff you may actually want). I know they have to sell something, but come on, surely they could do better than these piles of shit! Maybe just get rid of them to allow for more queueing.
(Typical queue for the 3 available cashiers at a main post office)
The problem faced by the good old PO is two-fold, firstly the staff have about half the length of time you get for an elevator pitch, ie. the time it takes to post your parcel, to sell you any of the host of insurance policies on offer. Not good.
Second, they are screwing the larger post offices up so bad with queues due to staff cuts/dissatisfaction - the staff are all forced to try and foist some type of insurance on every hapless soul who comes to their glass window - "2 first class stamps? No problem, would you like some home insurance with that?" Christ its like a financial Macd's.
It has occurred to my evil mind on more than one visit, while standing in a 30 person queue, waiting for one of the 3 tills open, that a good use for the now unused other 7 till points would be franchised outlets for starbucks, costa & co...at least it'd make the wait in line a bit more bearable...why don't they just get rid of the people and have a line of automated terminals so you can serve yourself? Now there's a thought!
Well the upshot of this rant is really that the "Post Office" should go back to being just that...somewhere we go to mail things...a couple more staff wouldn't go amiss either, and less insurance!
The unrivalled joy of Halloween comes but once a year. Here's the ultimate guide to getting rid of those insufferable council house beings chavving for sweets.
1. Fall over and let them mug you.
2. Feign an epileptic seizure.
3. Casually mention your child molestation conviction.
4. Throw a bucket of briss over them (if you don't know what briss is, don't ask. And definitely don't ask Jeeves.)
5. Behave in a homo-erotic fashion if they are accompanied by a father figure.
6. Dare them to drink a beaker of animal excrement.
7. Spray 'paedo' in a graffiti style on your own front door - they won't come near nor by.
8. Ask them if they would like to see the shrine you've made to Fred and Rose West.
9. Slam the door in their pathetic feral faces.