Lady Gaga Judas Parody! "Huge Ass"! (uploaded by Fanny)

Alright Fanny Fan's, Here's my Lady Gaga Video, I totally didn't ripped it off or nuthing!

Fanny Loveless: The Rapture! (or How I learned to stop worrying and embrace the Cult of Fannyology)

So, you may have all noticed that yesterday was the end of the world. 21st May 2011. No? I didn't notice either must've been a quiet one. Oh, sorry, what I should've said is one tiny church full of fucked up morons decided it was the end of the world yesterday. And they were wrong. As so many before them have been.

That's right. One tiny sodding fucking church, and they probably didn't even believe it themselves. I mean, in the last few years I can think of a good half-a-dozen-times some cult of brainwashed fucktards have decided a particular date means the end of ze world and then... nothing. But what I want to know is why are we giving these fucking morons mouthpieces? Column inches, tv time, the Western World's media is happy to relay the bollocks that these fucktards are spouting.

WHY!?

Even WORSE than this is that some people have been actually and genuinely WORRIED that the fucktards might be right. If you'd went on twitter yesterday and searched on the hashtag #justincase you would have seen hundreds of tweets from people repenting for their sins and begging forgiveness "just in case" the four fucking horsemen of the apocalypse are getting ready for their ride of fire across the sky. WHAT THE FUCK? What the fuck is wrong with people?

If you ask me, the whole thing was just a cynical ploy by church leaders. Get them publicity. Get them in the news. Get people talking about them. Sure, they will be inevitably proved wrong but they can just do a quick handwave and say "oh, um just a miscalculation, we were out by 18 months because we forgot to carry the 2", and hopefully have converted a few more easily-led morons into their religion. No offence Christians, but that's kind of the thing with Christianity isn't it? The hard sell. The importance on Conversion.

With all of these people enthralled, scared and enraptured by this apocalyptic prediction I am seriously thinking of starting my own religion. "The Cult of Fanny-ology". Though shalt always watch thy X-Factor and smoke thy Lucky Strikes and induldge in the drinking of the sacred water from Jacob's Creek. Though shalt worship your Lord Fanny every day but especially on Thursday nights when there's nothing I like on telly and you can all film me YouTube videos to entertain me. Oh and subscribing to my Youtube channel is a given.

And then, oh Cult of Fannyists, I shall predict the end of the world. 3 weeks next Friday. And the only way to prevent the Rapture is to walk around naked and covered in olive oil all day. Unless your old, fat or ugly. Or a woman. And yay this shall please your lord and the world shall keep turning. Hey? There might be some sorry but sexy fools who do it.... #justincase ...


Fanny.

Winnifred Bulldyke: All About Winnifred

Well hello there me dears! How are you? All well I hope! Well as we've had some good news about Quentin I thought I'd take the time to let you all know a bit more about little old me.

I was born in a stable in Burrowbridge, in the summer of '79 to my dear old parents, my mother  Welliminia Vandyke and my father Studley Bullcock, they named me Winnifred, and due to Cowish naming conventions I was Winnifred Bulldyke! Well, what's in a name? Quite a lot it turns out! Well, as you all probably know Winnifred was the Patron Saint of Virgins, and I am technically a virgin, never having had my lady garden plowed by an obtrusive male phallus, because, I am a lesbian! Or dyke for want of a better word.

Well, how did I know I was a lesbian, you all ask? Well, as a calf I always knew I wasn't like the other young bovines in my field. I never wanted to grow up to be a butter cow like all of the other girls, and the young bulls never interested me either. I couldn't care less about big bulbous bull testicles, but the other girls udders did use to make me feel all funny. The other young calves noticed this, and used to make fun of me and talk about me behind my back. Well, it was then that I realised I was destined for a life away from the fields and the farms, and was headed for the big city.

I moved into Bristol because, well, because it was the nearest big city really. And I couldn't afford to travel too far, especially as I had to hitch a ride on a milk float because public transport was always prejudiced towards cows. Well, seeing all the poor deprived people in Bristol who had to survive on Special Brew and couldn't afford food because their benefits couldn't stretch to cover both, I knew that Social Care was where I was headed.

At first, getting by was difficult. I took a low paying job at a local Asda whereby I just had to stick my head through a hole in the wall in the milk section and say "moo" whenever someone walked past, but that barely kept the green (grass) coming in, and my bedsit was ridiculously over-priced, so I started moonlighting in a local fetish club.

I had to hang from the ceiling, bound and gagged, whilst sexily dressed women would beat me with sticks, like a pinata, and dirty fat old men would pay good money to watch whilst touching themselves. Well, luckily I soon had saved up enough money to pay for a Social Care degree at the University of the West of England (UWE), and so I quit. Asda that is. I kept the fetish club job as it kept me in grass and textbooks, and paid the bills to boot! well, I mean, the thing was, I loved it! I mean, you would too if you worked with women like this:

Not only did the job pay well, but it really helped me come to terms with, and explore, my sexuality. I no longer felt like a freak, I had countless flings with so many women, and I learned all there is about teasing and pleasing the clitoris. Well, eventually I graduated with a 2:1, well I probably would've got a first if it wasn't for the night job, but without that job I wouldn't be the cow I am today. I quit the job at the fetish club with no regrets, I knew I couldn't make fetish work my life, and really, as I got older what work would there be for a saggy-uddered old dyke? And besides which, I always knew social care was my calling, my raison d'etre, or, you know.

SO I got a job running a halfway house for disturbed and troubled farm animals. PERFECT! I love my job and the satisfaction I get working with my tenants. And then there's my neighbour, Fanny, well, I know she's just a friend and she's not interested in me because she likes men. But well, you never know, one day, maybe..... !

Thanks for reading this, and if you ever fancy chatting just leave a comment on this post and I'll get in touch!

Quentin Clapper: I'm Alive

Writing this very quickly. I'm alive. Escaped them the other day since that video text. Just grabbed this pic of some. Still in hiding. Will update you soon. HELP ME.

Fanny Loveless: True Confessions

Dear Quentin, I don't know if you will ever read this, or even if you ever read anything ever again but... I have a confession to make.

The Dutch authorities weren't just on a random raid, they were there specifically looking for you, and the reason I know that is because... I was the one who told them.

I'm so so fucking sorry. Seriously I am loves, really well and truly. I never thought you'd end up in that crazy Quarantine Prison, I just thought they would deport you back to the UK!

I am racked with guilt every second of the day, Really. Well OK, when I listen to the new Jedward song I don't feel so bad. Or if I'm drinking wine. Or having a fag. Or eating some trill. Or watching some telly. Or looking at porn on the Internet. But when I'm not doing any of those things I'm feeling really sad and guilty. Well, unless Aunty Hy or Winnifred Lesbo Bulldyke or Montel or the fucking pig are trying to talk to me in which case I'm just pissed off. But the rest of the time. Guilty as hell.

I'm trying to formulate some sort of plan to help you, on the off chance you're still alive and managing to survive in the zombie-infested quarantine facility somehow. OK! Not zombie-infested, zombies aren't real that's just stupid, but you know what I mean. The rabid-genetically-modified-animal infested quarantine facility. If you're reading this please find some way to let me know you survive!

Love from your old dear Fanny x

Quentin in Quarantine! (Updated by Fanny Loveless)

Hey Fanny Flaps,

Fucking Hell! What have I done! I just had this video message in from Quentin! He looks like he's in some sort of demonic Animal Quarantine!