Monday, 18 October 2010


You know that phase, where you're sitting there and you're thinking life is pretty great? That everything is going well?

That feeling you get when it's all torn out from underneath you?

I mean, I've always tried to be the optimistic type. I've always been the one looking on the bright side, cracking jokes and generally keeping things positive *Cue Legally Blonde remaining stuck in my head for the next 6 hours as I attempt to sleep*

But I'm struggling to do so right now.

Currently, my grandfather is lying in a bed in the ICU. Being unable to breathe for himself. Don't get me wrong, there are people in there in much worse conditions. But there's one thing that's more important about my grandad. He's fucking MY grandad.

More than that, he is pretty much the entire reason I am the way that I am. He's always encouraged me to do what I want, be who I want and everything like that. Whenever I'd get shit at school for being an odd little fucker, which I very much was, he'd always be there to tell me to ignore all that. No matter what happened, he loved me and the way I was and there wasn't anything that was going to change that. I know everyone must get that from their parents and grandparents, but I don't care about those. I care about my grandad.

It's very rare you'll ever see me write like this. Obviously, this isn't a common occurence - not yet, at least - so it's not often I'll ever be in this mindstate. But right now, everything seems futile. Not since Lauragate has everything ever felt so pointless.

Again, I sit there and joke around and have a laugh and that's all well and good. But that doesn't solve the fact that my guiding inspiration in my life is lying two feet away completely unconscious. I talk to him, but the words just get choked out behind the tears. It sounds pathetic really. He'll be fine. He's part of my family, it takes a lot to kill us. Nonetheless, I can't help but feel like we're playing the waiting game right now. Just sitting there, counting down the minutes until they announce the inevitable.

I honestly don't think he's ever going to come out of that ICU. Not alive.

I hate myself for thinking it. But I can't help it. He's been through so much shit, in and out of hospitals for so many years now that I can't believe he's still fighting. But he always has. He always laughs, always a smile on his face. Which is why I'm finding it so hard to do that right now. He's the one who taught me that life isn't so bad and that there's always a silver lining.

What's the silver lining to this, grandad? Because I just don't see one. Beyond you not being in any pain any more, which is obviously something I wish for more than anything, but not like this.

I love you grandad. With all my heart and everything that I am. Please pull out of this.

I'll be lost without you.

I'm not even spellchecking or proofreading this. Fuck it. What's the point anymore?

Wednesday, 21 July 2010

Did you know...

That if you don't like Lady Gaga, you're 95% more likely to punch a baby in the face?

This is due to the fact you're clearly a hateful individual who believes everyone should suffer your opinions and/or baby face punching.

Wow. I'm not even entirely sure where that opening segment came from, if I'm being perfectly honest. The sentiment still remains, even if being slightly exaggerated - You're actually only 92% more likely. I'm sorry for distorting the facts in that manner. Friendsies?


In all seriousness, I have no idea what the hell that shit I just wrote is. It made me giggle though, so I shall keep it and damn the consequences!

Really, though, you should love Lady Gaga. Even though she does that annoying thing of capitalising the second ga as if it was a separate word when it's CLEARLY not. Although that might not be her, it might just be everyone else. If that is the case, Gaga, I apologise. Everyone else, fucking stop that shit. You're impressing no one. Especially not me. You prick.

Sorry, I just went for a ska break. That's something people do, right? Just stop what they're doing and go listen to or play some ska? Just me? Oh well, fuck it.

I forgot what I was talking about, so I'm just going to call you a baby puncher and move on.

Also, in further news, next friday I get paid and I will be spending far too much money on going to see Lady Gaga. Yes, Yes I am.

In further further news, you should go listen to Eminem & Rihanna. I always want to spell her name Rhianna. It just makes more sense to the pronunciation. It DOES! Stop fucking judging me! Bastards.

Right, I've grown tired of typing, I'm going for another ska break and then to visit my grandfather who now has a leg missing!

How exciting!

By exciting I mean horrible.

You fucking bastards. Agreeing with me like that.

Saturday, 10 July 2010

You know how...

You think that everything's actually going to be OK? When suddenly a whole world of shit happens and it drags you right back to that place again? When you're not quite sure that this will ever go away because there's always that constant reminder?

That's how I feel currently. It's not really fun, to be perfectly honest. Hence the lack of witicisms within this post.

I hate writing depressing shit like this but quite frankly this is my only outlet because of the way I am. So fuck it.

Tuesday, 6 July 2010

Dear Diary...

I might just start titling every blog I write in that manner, to be honest. I like to think of me writing this in my bed, surrounded by unicorns and such whenever I write that title. I suppose that's just me, though.

Anyway, enough of that, I want to shout at things. A lot of things. Are you listening? No, you're not. Because this is a blog. These are written words. You can't hear them. Unless you're using text to speech. In which case you're just fucking lazy. Or blind. To be honest, I imagine it's the former. I can't see (geddit?!) a blind person ever finding this blog.

I am the motherfucking master of digression.

So, facebook. What have you done to me this time?

"...Two planes landed in England today. One brought back a group of overpaid, underachieving footballers. The other brought back seven coffins, each with the Union Jack draped over them. Footballers play for our country, soldiers FIGHT for our country. Footballers give ninety minutes, soldiers give their lives. I know who I respect more. R.I.P. Our Boys. Copy & Paste this to your status, show your support..."
That has been a recent status. I know it's not really that recent, but I haven't blogged prior to this. so deal with it. It's mildly frustrating, isn't it? I mean, everybody that posted has had NOTHING but world cup fucking status updates for weeks. Ignoring the massive amounts of xenophobia that has been going on throughout anyway (which I haven't been), that statement is just fucking ludicrous. Firstly, they know what they're getting into. Fuck it, you want to go fight a war? There's a chance you might die. Suck it up and shut the fuck up. While I don't wish death upon anyone, if somebody has to die, I'd prefer it to be the people who want to kill other people.

What annoyed me more is the end. "Copy & past this..." Why can't people come up with their own damn sentiments anymore? I mean, honestly? What is the fucking point of bothering if you're just copying an identical piece of text that meant fuck all in the first place. You're diminishing the meaning of nothing. How is that even possible?
Jesus fucking christ you people annoy me. Although, this is from the same person who told me Avatar was better than The Hurt Locker just because she hadn't seen The Hurt Locker. I like Avatar, I really do. But it's just a very pretty version of Dancing With Wolves.

On to more pressing issues, I can't help but realise that Katy Perry ignored my advice and is still awaiting to release a new album. Shame on her. Just, seriously, fuck that noise.

I saw Green Day twice the other week. I'm pretty sure that makes me better than you. I then went to see Tegan & Sara. I am clearly more epic than you. There is a photo of me meeting Amanda Palmer. But I won't post that here as it'll just wind up Sof a hideous amount.

Oops... Shit.

Wednesday, 16 June 2010

Dear girl in front of me

Leggings are not trousers.

Put some fucking clothes on, I can see your fucking breakfast from here.

Jesus fucking christ.

Monday, 24 May 2010


I cut all my hair off. Mostly for shits and giggles to be honest because I was bored that day and where most people would merely go and do something sensible, I go and do something ridiculous because I like to have stories to tell. My god, do I have stories. Do I have stories? Should that even be a question?

Regardless, this is not the point.

I now have short hair. I am notorious for not giving a shit about the way I look. Alas, since I have this short hair, I've gained that "bed head" look that seems oh-so-popular amongst the people that do care - I'm not suggesting that caring about your appearance is wrong. I'm telling you. Grow up, you superficial fucks.

The dilemma I'm now faced with is that I now look like one of these people. The people who make an effort to make it look like they've made no effort.

So do I go one step further? Do I make an effort to make it look like I haven't made an effort to look like I haven't made an effort? Does that sentence even make any sense?

On that note, I'm going for a skate. Don't expect to see me back here alive.

Tuesday, 11 May 2010

So, guess what?

That's right. Something has pissed me off. Imagine my surprise, right?

So, I was out in Camden on saturday. That's not the whole story, of course, but it's a damn good start and it certainly wouldn't aid my mood.

I went to Proud. It was my friends birthday. I felt obliged, as she is a legend who I absolutely fucking adore. Considering there are less people that I can say that about than I have fingers, sans thumbs, that certainly counts for something.

It's a standard pretentious fuckwits haven. It's a gallery by day and a money swallowing vacuum by night. Sorry, club. That's not even what pissed me off. The fact it was so hideously expensive to drink kept me more sober and a little more level headed.

I'm digressing.

I went outside for a cigarette with a friend who shall hereby be known as Col. As that was his name. Stood by the door was one of the wonderful ladies who had been emptying my wallet so thoroughly all night. Being behind a bar , I had not had the opportunity to observe quite what she was wearing.

Of course, when she was out from behind the bar, I still struggled to see what she was wearing. Because it was practically non-existent. To call it underwear would be doing a dishonour to the amount of dignity that underwear can afford.

So, curious, we felt the need to ask if she had to wear that.

She did.

What the fuck, people? I mean, don't get me wrong, I appreciate the female form. Quite a great deal, in fact. I can't deny that for a moment and I'm fairly certain that a fairly significant proportion of people would be lying if they said that they didn't. However, I don't really feel that being forced to wear something that would make a pole dancer embarassed is going to help anyone. If people WANT to wear such things, fine. Have at it, I'm not going to stop you, it's your body, do what the fuck you like quite frankly. I may think you're an idiot for feeling the need to do such things, but that's purely my opinion so whatever, right?

Do they honestly think this is a wise idea? Ignore the fact it's fucking freezing outside, which they clearly fucking can't, as they're wearing fuck all. Can you possibly think of any situation where putting a nigh-on naked girl surrounded by drunken fucking idiots is ever going to be an intelligent idea? A lot of people don't need any more help to objectify women as it is, before they're intoxicated and being served by an individual who is essentially being treated as a piece of meat.

Oh, also, you'll be shocked to learn, I didn't manage to observe anyone of a slightly larger size wearing such outfits. I fucking wonder why.

Seriously, people make me fucking sick. I'm never going fucking back there again. Fuck the lot of you, with your overpriced entry, drinks and cost to human fucking dignity.

Please, someone help restore my faith in fucking humanity, before I feel the fucking need to leave this place.

Which I will have to fucking do anyway if the damn Lib Dem-Tory coalition happens. Fuck that.

Monday, 10 May 2010

An open letter to Katy Perry

Hi there Katy. Do you remember me?

No, probably not. I'm that little voice that keeps nagging at you, telling you to stop doing what it is that you're doing. No, not your conscience. That's given up quite some time ago, I'm sure. I'm that dissenter who keeps pointing out just how abhorrent a person you are.

Sorry, I didn't mean to confuse you with so many big words. I can wait here while you look them up, if you'd like? I'm not telling you, as that would just defeat the object - You'll never advance as an individual if people continue to hand you the answers to everything.

I couldn't help but notice that, despite my constant complaints, you've continued existing. That saddens me. What depresses me more, though, is that you've gone and released another album.

Did I not make it clear enough last time? Despite how hideous I found everything that you released into the charts, I still had to listen to the album before I gave a real judgement.

I regretted that decision instantly. It upset me. There are so many wasted opportunities for many great pop songs on that album - believe me, it pains me to admit that anything to do with you could be good - but they were ruined by your presence. Your hideous voice, your painful intonation and your atrocities of the english language that you call lyrics.

So, imagine my surprise when I found myself enjoying your new single.

No, I'm joking. I'm happy to say that you're even worse than you were before, somehow. You've taken all the positives from your previous album and just stricken them from the record. You're an idiot. You've actually ruined my day. I didn't think it was possible for you to do that. Along you trot, though, with a mention on the radio and the autotuned, pseudo-dance song that you call a single and I call a crime against music.

Please, I'm begging you. Reconsider the release of your album. I'm certain that it's probably banned under the Geneva Convention as a cruel and unusual punishment anyway. At least save some face and make sure that it doesn't see the light of day. It's for the best. For you and for music.


P.S. - I'm not sure if I made this clear enough, but fuck you.

Sunday, 9 May 2010


I met a man more pretentious than me. It was amazing. I finally got to have a taste of what it's like to be like anybody that has ever spoken to.

He tried to tell me Warning was the worst Green Day album. Needless to say, I tried to tell him that being on fire is not going to be beneficial to his health. He didn't listen to me.

At least he kept me warn for the evening whilst smoking.

Sof keeps complaining my blogs are too short. So I'm ending it here to spite her, despite having a great deal more to say.

Friday, 7 May 2010


Seriously, why aren't you listening to Boney M right now?

What are you? Racist?

I bet you voted BNP yesterday, didn't you? Cunt.

Tuesday, 4 May 2010

Saturday, 1 May 2010

This is a blog for Sof

Hello Sof! Have a blog! It's no masterpiece, but you get what you pay for, really.

Wednesday, 28 April 2010

A Friend's Status

is complaining that she can barely afford to eat but that her mate can afford to go down the pub all the time.

Her very next post, of course, is from Xbox regarding her gamerscore.

If you can afford to play on your 360, you can fuck off complaining, you prick.

People can barely afford to live at all, let alone in a fucking house and you complain from the comfort of your living room while playing your fucking games console? You're a twat, you are.

I listened to Shostakovich when he was underground.

Only listening to bands that nobody else has heard of doesn't make you cool. It just means you like really shitty bands, that's all.

Stop acting like you're so much better than everyone else because your new favourite band have a fan base of exactly six people - four of whom happen to be the mothers of the members whilst the other two are you and your fuckwit friend who doesn't actually have a taste in music, but listens to anything you say because it'll make him popular.

Yes, it's true that my favourite band aren't exactly huge and do remain quite underground to this day. It's also true that my second favourite artist happens to be one of the biggest sellers of all time, so your arguement can fuck right off, can't it?

The people who are huge fans until an artist actually starts being successful can fuck right off as well. Here's the logic - Bands are good. Bands get record deals because they are good, bands become more famous and bands can continue writing music.

Now here's the scenefuck logic - Band is good. Bands gets record deal. Band has sold out. Band are now dead to them.

Being a musician is still a job, ultimately. I know everyone has varying opinions on these things, but at the end of the day, people still need to make money. Making a CD isn't a cheap process and the artists have to pay for it, so yes, they will need to make money, at the very least to fund the next album. Would you prefer it if they never released a new album, because they didn't get signed and decided to call it a day?

Well, yes, of course you would, but that's because you're a fucking dick who just wants to be cool by listing off bands noone actually gives a shit about.

Don't tell me the reason I haven't heard of a band is because they're not big yet. If they were any good, you would have told me sooner, wouldn't you? Fucking prick.

My mates definition of what makes "real" music is if the artist struggled or not. Which is the most bullshit thing ever. You think Mozart really struggled? Or any of the greatest composers of all time? I mean, it's all relative but they had it easy. Does that mean The Planets Suite isn't "real" music?

Of course it doesn't. It means you're a cunt.

I've been working overnights. I'm tired and angry. I'm going to fucking bed.

Wednesday, 14 April 2010


There's one thing that really annoys me about myself, more than anything else.

It's the fact that my actual talent far outweighs my ability.

It sounds strange, but it makes perfect sense. What I can come up with in terms of music is amazing. The main issue is that I can't play it. I can't even come close to making a noise that vaguely resembles the concept that is going around in my head. It gets quite tedious.

It's like being a really good fuck if only I could get over this fucking erectile dysfunction.

I realise that, having just become single - Yes, Beyonce, my hands are up - I probably shouldn't be admitting such things on such a public domain as the internet. Of course, what I should do and what I actually end up doing are generally two very different things that might have once briefly met at a party before diverging paths greatly.

I have no idea where the fuck that analogy - or this entire post, for that matter - is going, but I'm going to run with it.

Anyway, the whole point is that basically, the songs I write and the songs I write are two completely different things. That may seem like a contradiction in terms, but then I'd suggest you merely pay more attention to what has been written previously and you might actually figure stuff out by yourself.

Let's recap, shall we?

-I write songs
-I can't play said songs
-I write different songs that are simplified versions
-I'm surprised they even let you near electronic equipment

See? Quite simple, really.

Anyway, I need to get dressed and go to work, so you finish this blog post yourself.

Actually, don't. You don't have the wit required for such a thing. Just, leave it. I'll get back to it. Or I'll leave it here like an abandoned puppy.

How can it be an abandoned puppy before I leave it somewhere?

I'll leave on that note.

Monday, 12 April 2010

This is not a clever title

So, thanks to Sof (I'm almost certain that she's the only person I actually reference within this blog, actually. At least on a regular basis) for bringing this to my attention.

You should probably all go and read THIS before I continue, or else this probably won't make too much sense. Although you'll probably grasp the gist of it. Make a mockery of my choice of colour should you desire, but it shows up on this background much better. Also, it's a fucking badass colour.

Anyway, I'm digressing.

This website, in case you couldn't tell because you can't read - in which case, you can get fucked but you don't know I said that, gutted - shows how each party voted in response to various issues in the LGBT community.

I love that acronym. It sounds like the best sandwich ever.

My first question, of course, is this: Why the fuck are they not all at 100%? If they are not gay, then why does it matter to them what gay people do? If they are gay, whether openly out or not (which is another issue entirely which can fuck off), why wouldn't they want to have equal rights?

I really have no idea why anyone would possibly vote against any of them, except for sheer fucking ignorance and bigotry.

Out of curiosity, how do you think they'd vote for black people having a different age of consent? Or adoption policies? I imagine they'd vote quite positively towards equality there. So what's the fucking difference? Yes, there's the issue of the years of black oppression and suchlike, but at the end of the day this all boils down to people being fucking pricks about issues that don't really concern them.

It's the conservatives I'm most concerned about, though. I mean, just look at that. Fucking hell. I know it's in your name, that you're conservative, but for fuck sake, just get off your high fucking horse and let people choose as they damn well please. The only place they even get a majority is on the civil partnership issue. Let's face it, even then it's a shockingly small amount, when you think about it. The rest of it just flat out offends me. So, yes, I'm not gay, we've covered this before, but I am quite involved with the LGBT community, simply because I've stumbled across these people in my life and they happen to be fucking legendary. The fact they chose an alternative sexuality is neither here nor there as far as I'm concerned. It doesn't even enter into the equation.

Until times like these, of course, at which point I feel the need to shout at people and tell them that they (alliteration is fucking badass) really should just let people get on with what they do.

It upsets me, damnit, that I can't legally have sex with a 16 year old boy should I desire. It upsets me dearly.

That's not even a sick joke. If I wanted to sleep with a 16 year old girl, that'd be fine, if not considered slightly pervy and/or legendary, depending on the group of people. But to sleep with a 16 year old boy is a fucking CRIME. Where is the justice in that, may I ask?

Don't bother answering. There fucking is none. It's all bullshit. Vote positively towards gay rights, people. Vote for the people that will let it happen, even if they won't actively MAKE it happen. That's a fight we still need to win ourselves, unfortunately.

Sunday, 11 April 2010

To my dearest Sof...

Here is the blog I promised you earlier.

But this is all you're getting because it's 4 fucking am. Do you know where your kids are?

Because I do...

Wait... That came out a little more sinister than I expected.

Oh well. Good morning starshine!

Friday, 9 April 2010


"I think for the money, he was anyone's Asian"

That, ladies and gentlemen, was essentially the best thing I've ever heard.

The Little Dog Laughed. There are no words to describe that play. It was simply stunning. I mean, it also frustrated me a great deal, but that's a point I'll get to in my own fucking time.
So, essentially. Man is gay. Man is also famous. Famous gay people are clearly frowned upon. But famous gay man wants to play a gay man in a film about, oddly enough, gay men. This sentence is an excuse to type the word gay excessively.

He falls in love with a man. Who is not gay but is gay, if you see where I'm coming from. Cue twists and turns and a bittersweet ending that is tragically realistic and quite saddening, really. It even left me with the feeling that what we saw was the very story that they were trying to create, which was a great bit of satirical genius.
I shan't bore you with the details. I'd suggest you go see it but as it's closing tomorrow, I find it hard to believe that you will. Your loss, quite frankly.

Gemma was amazing. Such a great performance and looked simply stunning. But I leave such details to Sof, as she is the resident obsessive around here. Rupert Friend was fantastic as well, I was thoroughly convinced. So much so that I may have my doubts... Not that it's really my place to question, really. But this is me, so I'm going to do so anyway.

Harry Lloyd was great. Apart from anytime there needed to be a dramatic pause. Because they were far too dragged out. Just wait until he goes to take his coat. And wait. And wait. And WaOH FOR FUCK SAKE JUST GET ON WITH IT DAMNIT!

Tamsin Greig is pretty much my new favourite person. She was just genius. So well cast, she had the role down perfectly. She also has some of the greatest comedic timing I've ever seen and managed to even chuck in a little crowd interaction whilst remaining perfectly in character. Simply stunning.

So, the angry bit.

Why the fuck is it not OK to be gay? I mean, we apparently live in quite the tolerant society, so I've been told. The second someone is gay, however and the knives come out. Fuck that. As a straight man (I'd use inverted commas but that's clearly too subtle for some of you) I really don't understand the problem. I mean, I've never had to deal with the persecutive side of things but it's just stupid. Some people are gay. Deal with it. Some guys like other guys. There is no need to be afraid of it. It is not contagious, it is not a bad thing and most importantly, get fucked, you intolerant little shitbags.

Yes, women come out and are met by huge amounts of praise from the misogynistic masses because they think it's OK for girls to be gay, as long as they get to watch. Which, again, can go fuck itself with a rusty bargepole. Do they even make bargepoles out of metal? Does it matter? No.

I just get really annoyed by all this. I hear homophobic comments all the time. I get a fair few myself. I'm wearing pink shoes today. This leads to no end of entertainment from the guys in the office with all of seven brain cells between them. Apparently, pink is an exclusively female colour and if you wear it, you've either got tits or you like penises. I must have missed a meeting, it seems.

Fuck it. I'm going back to work to eat lunch and pontificate on such matters. And I will probably end up shouting at someone.

Oh well. Never mind. It's no longer my problem to care.

Thursday, 8 April 2010

A little behind the curve.

But there's an energy drink called Pussy.

Which is accurate, as if you drink it, you look like a cunt.

That's all the witty banter for this evening, I'm afraid. Tomorrow there will be discussions about plays and Tamsin and other such matters of great importance.

Monday, 5 April 2010

The Arrogance of the Rock Scene

Sometimes, just when I think that the vast majority of the rock scene couldn't get any worse, I get proven deeply and categorically wrong. I'm not a huge fan of any type of scene, really, but there's always some fucker in the rock scene that makes matters worse for them. It's the sheer arrogance of it that really frustrates me, to be quite honest. I only remain part of it because I enjoy ridiculing people and, well, there's occasionally a good bit of music going on too.

So, upon reading Facebook and noting a friends status, I get incredibly irked over nothing. Which, in all fairness, is my go-to mind state as far as the internet is concerned.

A friend of a friend commented on a status, with something along the lines of "The thing I love about listening to metal, is it makes me appreciate other genres like blues and stuff" - I can't remember it verbatim, as this was a while ago and it has just resurfaced, but you get the general idea.

This set me off into an annoyance like no other... Well, no other that day, at least.

It's so stupidly arrogant, isn't it? It's not just me that thinks that, surely? I mean, for a start, I happen to know that I started off my musical loving life as a huge fan of hip hop. I now currently have one of the most diverse tastes in music going. Sof is the same, except she got her grounding in classical music and show tunes, as far as I recall - We discuss these things after several beverages so sometimes the minor details get left out, but that's basically it.

The reason you like other types of music is because you're a fan of music. That's all it is. Being into metal doesn't make you suddenly understand the intricacies of everything else, it's the fact you ALREADY like the fucking stuff, you just hadn't heard it.

Fuck sake, metal is just the blues for whiny shitty middle class white people who have no idea what the fuck struggle actually is. "Boohoo, my life is so hard!" is a main feature of half the stuff out there and it's quite simply bullshit.

You feel like an outcast because you dress different? Hey, try being black, female or, god forbid, a black female in the previous fucking century. That's struggle. That is real problems there. That's why blues is so much better. Because they were fucking miserable because they had no fucking choice. You choose to outcast yourself. You can listen to the music you want, but you're so obsessed with sticking to this godamn dress code and image that nobody has forced upon you that you will complain that you're being discriminated against, because you look like a twat.

Persecution? Tell that to the millions of Jewish people who were killed. Discrimination? You try telling that to the families of slaves. Or the women who suffered for the rights to be treated as a fucking equal, nothing more. Don't you fucking dare tell me you have it hard. You have first world problems and you should consider yourself very fucking lucky.

Which brings me to my next point, in a roundabout fashion.

There were some twats in the queue for some club night. Basically a group of pricks, defined by the scene I previously described. My friend was there in a batman hoodie - You know, the badass one, where the hood is the cowl and it has a cape that you can clip on because you're fucking awesome.

So they proceeded to spend the next half hour talking about it. About how he should've worn a metal hoodie, as this was a metal night. Get fucked, you little shit. You're not so different anyway. Wearing a Famous tshirt? That's still a label. You're not cool. You're not individual. You're far from fucking unique. You're a jumped up little shit who needs to grow the fuck up.

If this carries on and I make it past 30 without having a fucking nervous breakdown, I'll consider that an achievement

Sunday, 4 April 2010


I remember wanting to be a doctor at some point when I was young. This fact tickles me in quite the fashion. Honestly, can you imagine me as a doctor? One of the least caring or compassionate people around?

"Doctor, I think I have AIDS."
"Twat. Should've bagged it up then."

Repeat for the entirety of my career as a practitioner before my early dismissal over some sort of dispute about just WHAT I was trying to do to that child. Clearly I was trying to help. I'm just that kind of guy.

No, I do not imagine that being a doctor plays out almost exactly as an episode of Scrubs does, I just generally don't care about what I'm doing or people in general. There are specific cases, but on the whole people can go fuck themselves with tridents. Not the chewing gum. Although that would lead to some highly interesting A&E appointments. I suppose, though, so would being penetrated by an actual trident.

...How would someone even DO that?

I love the fact the question is "How" and not "Why". I think it's details like that that set me apart from the average individual.

In more pressing subjects, Sof is back in town. When myself and Sof get together, things tend to get quite judgemental very quickly. This occasion was no different. Fuck those guys. It annoys me that anywhere I go is so full of people that are too scene for their own good. I don't even mean scene in the emo fashion. I mean scene for each individual style of music and/or person. Although anyone who identifies themselves purely by what music they listen to is a twat who should have been drowned at birth. To be on the safe side, I hereby declare that all babies be drowned at birth.

I'm like King Herod in the bible, I am. Apart from the fact I'm actually real. Suck it, Christians. Both the religious followers and anyone called Christian. Because you have a cunt of a name.

Also, London prices can get fucked.

Sonic Boom Six and No Doubt being played towards the end of the night is always good though. As is sitting around chatting shit all night. Myself and Sofia get VERY political when we drink. And then we listen to Legally Blonde and Hair and so many other things because we are so much better than you.

Now, in other news:

How fucking adorable is THAT? I know it's a break in character, but fuck it, I just discovered these the other day and they are fucking epic.

Now, go fuck yourselves, because I have a reputation to keep up and that picture destroyed about half my credibility.

Monday, 29 March 2010

Paolo Nutini

Take your head out of your fucking arse, would you? It's so far gone that your straw hat must be irritating your tonsils by now.

Speaking of which, take that fucking hat off. Did you miss the memo that only cunts can wear straw hats now? You're not a cunt, are yo... You know what? Carry on.

Sunday, 28 March 2010

Sof is back in town

So, London, consider this your warning.

Expect vast amounts of judgement about your pretentious ways, consumption of stupid amounts of rum and spontaneous outburts of Beyonce and Gaga. It will happen, it's down to you to deal with it

Bring it the fuck on.

To clarify...

Yes, fucking my half sister intentionally is much better than unintentionally. At least that way I can enjoy it sufficiently.

I don't know my real father is

The fact I may have fucked my half-sister unintentionally keeps me awake at night.

I'm back, motherfuckers

Don't take that title offensively, I do not care which of your parents you prefer to make love to, it's just that motherfucker rolls off the tongue (Jesus, forgive that fucking pun (and again)) much better than fatherfucker does. Try it. It's a fact. Terrence and Phillip almost matched it with Unclefucker. But not quite.

See, there's a perfectly sensible linguistic explanation behind my choice of insults here.

I'm not entirely sure what it is I'm on here to write about today. Should it be about my grand return to the world of blogspot after my absence of, ohh, about 20 minutes or so? Or should I discuss something much more important? I have a discussion about positive discrimination which I'd like to go into at some point. By discussion, of course I mean that I'll be shouting at you for an unknown amount of time whilst disregarding everything you might possibly have to say because you're a fucking idiot.

Instead, I might just talk about nothing at all for a little while.

No. That was fucking boring. I won't be doing that again.

It's odd, how that despite the fact I have absolutely nothing to say of any significance whatsoever, that I can write as much as I do. It always astounds me. What amazes me more is that people actually read this shit. In comparison to the rest of the internet though, this is the web2.0 equivalent of fucking Shakespeare.

OK, that's quite enough for me right now. I expect I shall post some more later, when I'm angry about some inane pointless thing. Like your life, for example.

Just kidding. Not even I could care about your life enough to get angry over it.

Saturday, 27 March 2010

Fighting for peace is like fucking for virginity.

If you can think of a better way to make more virgins, I'd love to hear it.

Put some more thought into your fucking slogans, prick.

Friday, 26 March 2010

A flaming, one-man cabaret

I have a seemingly intimidating image. It has been mentioned on several occasions. I have a mohawk and I tend to be a little loud and aggressive. Indeed, on several occasions I have been used as a decoy boyfriend to save people from much unwanted hassle. It's an understandable judgement from that sort of perspective, I suppose.

Surprisingly to most, then, I also love musical theatre.

Pictured: Stereotypical Punk Image. Not pictured: Jazz hands!

I'll be perfectly honest, this blog post was entirely for that caption, because it had me in fucking stitches. In case you couldn't tell, I'm back, motherfuckers.

Monday, 22 March 2010

Lust for life

Mine has gone. Everything I ever enjoyed doing seems to have lost it's appeal.

Music is bland right now. Nothing piques my interest and what I do listen to is generally on to fill the void of silence and that quiet, nagging voice in the back of my mind. Writing music is even worse. Picking up that guitar and simply nothing at all coming to me, beyond the few standard chord progressions, was one of the most disheartening experience of my life.

Games have just lost appeal to me as well. I can't focus on any video games I'm playing, I just go through the motions that my thumbs have become attuned to over the years, nothing really coming of it.

I have no appetite. Food doesn't appeal to me, even when I'm starving I simply do not want to eat.

My comedy has just gone. Nothing seems funny to me anymore. Sure, I'm still there with a witty remark or a snappy comeback and still play the odd childish prank, but the actual writing and desire to make people laugh has vanished from within me.

I can't even be bothered to blog. She was my muse. It sounds pathetic, I know. I never really thought of such things. I even told her I didn't think she was my muse, that I write and sing and play about what is all around me. But the only times I've written recently have been after talking to her. She got into uni, I was so happy for her, the words just came forth out of nowhere. Now they're gone and I'm just not sure when they'll be back.

I'm not even angry at things anymore. I can't get angry. I can't feel anything. I just throw myself into work and hope to forget, grinding myself down until I'm too exhausted to even care anymore.

My lust for life is gone. I'm not longer inquisitive or excited by anything. This is the saddest part of it all. I wish I could change all of this. Never before have I ever felt so pathetic. Never again will I feel this way, should I ever recover.

So, here I am. Broken and beaten. Moping pathetically. I'm fully aware of it. But what can I do? I can't seem to pull myself out of this rut. No matter how hard I try. Every time I speak to her I feel physically sick. Everything she says makes me weak. I'm throwing myself upon her mercy without her even knowing.

I can't even say anything to her. I'm too much of a coward.

This is goodbye, for now. Maybe I'll find the words that I want to write again in the future. But for now, the inspiration, desire and passion for writing has all but gone.

Sof, you're probably the only person who reads this so I hate to disappoint. Thanks for everything.

Who knows when I'll be back again? I don't.

Wednesday, 17 March 2010

I am a QA tester...

And I am sick of your shit.

Honestly, this job gets none of the appreciation and all of the scorn. We bust our asses with out of date code, working 24/7 to ensure coverage for developers who are there for half that time.

I'm not calling development easy. Not even close. I can look at a page of code and have a vague idea as to what's going on, but I could never write the stuff.

But give us a little respect. We work hard and we put in the hours to ensure you have a good, solid product in a game.

I forever hear people, complaining about bugs in games. They always attack the QA first. Straight off the bat it's our fault. Even I used to do it, when I was young and naive.

Consider this. Every bug in a project cannot be found. There's no way. Every bug can cause knock on effects which will lead to other bugs. So, a product will never be bug free. It's just a fact.

We find a lot of bugs. We churn out a lot of them, hundreds a day can come out of teams.

Do all these get fixed? No. Of course they don't. I've worked on projects that have just had over a thousand issues written off and the game stuck in a box. They were issues we had found.

First thing I hear from people? "Are you sure you tested this?"

Yes. We did. We word hard. Where is the praise when a game has minimal bugs? Heaped on the developers. Which is fine, they make they game. But they don't play it. They won't see what we do, as testers and gamers. They see a wall of text.

I personally worked on a project for 7 weeks. In those 7 weeks, I racked up over 600 hours of game play. On one game. We found a lot of bugs. Not all of them got fixed.

Just give us the credit we're due every now and then, you fucks.

Tuesday, 16 March 2010

So here I am

Just gone 5. Preparing for a 20 mile bike ride to work.

You do not know the fucking meaning of dedication.

Monday, 15 March 2010

An Ode to You

Now I'm not normally the type
To recite the sappy shite
That you just might like
But I need to set this right
And get this off my chest
I'm a stressed,
broken and beaten mess
And I don't mean to obsess
Because I accept
And respect
Your choice not to progress
Or to take a chance to advance


Leaving this here again, for reference sake.

What? You thought you'd actually heard the last of the most crushing defeat in my life? Do me a fucking favour.

What do you say to taking chances?

What do you say to jumping off the edge?

Yeah, you can stop your fucking worrying. This is none of that sentimental tripe that I've been shovelling out the past few days. I was just listening to the Glee soundtrack - that fact will not come as a shock to many of you - and it led me to thinking about taking chances and suchlike.

I consider myself a bit of a chancer. I like to give things a go, take a risk, go out on a limb and many other kinds of analogy as well. This started off a long time ago, when I regretted something. I don't know if you've ever regretted something, but it's awful. I don't mean the standard "I wish I'd gone out tonight" or suchlike, I mean real regret. Stuff that digs into your mind for days, weeks and months on end.

I have and while I won't go into it as this is a positive post and not a sitting around moping like a whiny little bitch post, but needless to say it impacted greatly on my life.

I left a job I enjoyed that paid well - fucking well, in fact - to pursue a career in QA testing. Yes, it leaves me unemployed for stretches at a time, but how many of you have worked 100 hour weeks and loved it so much that you could've done more? Not many, I'd guess. That's why I still do it. Gaming is a passion and if I can get paid alright money to sit there and do it, to make things better, I will. That was in 2007 and I've never looked back. What if I'd never accepted that first job? What if I'd never left the well paid job for a less well paid one that I had a suspicion I'd enjoy more - I didn't know, as it's an extremely tedious job in the eyes of people who've seen it. Would I be kicking my ass right now? No, probably not, because that requires a defying of the laws of physics I am yet to master. But when I do...

My point is that you should stop asking "Why?" and start asking "Why not?"

What is the real worst that could happen? Apart from the beating I've taken over the past few days this view has worked out well for me.

I crack a few jokes, people tell me I should try stand up, I write an act and get on with it. Why not?

I enjoy musicals and I enjoy writing music and stories. Why not try writing a musical? I am.

You'd think that myself being unfunny and not that musically talented would make me think twice about such things, but then you'd also think a pacifist munchkin such as myself would learn some self restraint in who I am calling varying levels of profanity as well (That's all of you, by the way.) If I don't try, I'll never know. I could write the next Rent for all I know, or you could have, if you weren't so mired in what you can and can't do.

You can literally do whatever you want. Don't let things like your mind stop you. Because it's wrong. Just get on with it. Deal with the consequences. Because consequences are so much better than regrets, I can assure you.

Apologies for the lack of jokes and funnies in this blog post, but it's just something I've been thinking about and that I think you should too. You only live once. Unless you're a Buddhist, in case you never even really live once because you're far too busy doing nice things for others instead of enjoying yourselves. But whatever gets you through your day.

Peace x

Sunday, 14 March 2010

An Exchange...

"Why do you care about Lady Sov's mum dying?"
"The same reason I'd care if your mum died."
"You mean you're mates?"
"Nope, I mean I'm fucking her."

I can be such a prick sometimes. Oh well.

We're talking again.

It's a start, I suppose.

I know I said there would be no more mentions. But fuck it, it's my blog and I'll do what the fuck I like, quite frankly.
Sent using BlackBerry® from Orange

I am not...

One to complain needlessly

This is why this post is essentially empty.

Saturday, 13 March 2010

Right then

Now we've got all that hyper-emotional bullshit out of the way, we can go back to the typical angry ranting out of the way, safe in the knowledge that I don't have either a heart or soul remaining.


I've been out all day, so currently I haven't really become too angry. Apart from that advert. If someone starting singing along with me while I was playing, I'd be both concerned and angry. Just, talk to people. Go on, try it. I bet it works. Similar interests breed contempt and boredom. Differing views give you something to talk about.

But you know what else? Figure these fucking things out for yourself, not because they answered a few questions and wrote a few lists. It hardly has the same impact. I bet you'd pass over half the people you'd get on with because of those lists. GO OUTSIDE PEOPLE.

In other news, there has been very important developments in cloning.

Not really, I just thought this would be a nice opening to a go fuck yourself line.

The train is dark. People are complaining as some of the carriage lights are broken. Might I suggest that they fucking go sit somewhere else? Just a thought. It's a big train. I'm sure you find a seat. Or two if you can't stand human contact like myself.

People frustrate me. This is why I frustrate people. It's a fair trade. The human race betters itself and I shut up. Job done.

Just also like to give my thanks to Sof, Sarah and Wedge for yesterday. I was a fucking joke.

Those are the last kind words you'll hear from me.

Now get the fuck off my page.

"You are now approaching the end of the escalator"

As if I couldn't tell. Because it's fucking stopped. Cock.
Sent using BlackBerry® from Orange

Friday, 12 March 2010

When she spoke...

My face fell so hard that you could've sworn I'd had a stroke.

Yes, that may be harsh but I really don't care at all right now.

There I was thinking I didn't actually have the ability to care, too.

After today, no more mentions. Back to your regularly scheduled programme of shouting at things.

Note the lack of swearing. Clearly I'm affected.
Sent using BlackBerry® from Orange

You know what's fine?

Everything. Simply everything is just grand.

Seriously, I'm not heartbroken or anything right now. Why would I be? It's not like anything bad just fucking happened, is it?

Why would it? It's not like I left myself wide open to be fucked over by anybody once more. And it definitely wasn't the person I least expected to do it.

Fucking bitch. Fuck her. I'd say I'm better than that. But I'm not. She's basically perfection. I'm lucky to have even had the very brief chance.

Fuck. Actual fuck.

Fuck this

Fuck that. Fuck everything.

And fuck you.

This isn't even a fucking joke any more. Just fuck it.

Lucozade Alert

Drink it. Or else you'll flip your car avoiding deer crossing the road.

And then you'll die.

Or, you won't. Because that shit doesn't fucking happen and if it does, Lucozade is the least of your fucking worries.

Who the fuck comes up with this shit?

Bold Advert

Does no one else have a clear issue with the false advertising this ad portrays?

These days, should anyone hug and sniff a child, I can't help but feel they'd be lynched. Then shot. Then lynched again. Then set on fire. Before finally being lynched again. Because that is the sort of society we live in. Ignore the fact that I imagine most people that aren't paedophiles aren't actually paedophiles or going to harm your kids in any way, shape or form.

But fuck it, right? Your kids are safe. Michael Jackson died.

Notice how more willing we are to forgive people the more famous and talented they turn out. So, Mr. Glitter, may I suggest you write some better fucking songs with all the free time you now have? You might just get away with it this time.

Oh, and another thought. If you MUST touch kids. Which you musn't, you fucking prick. But if you must, might I suggest you don't go to one of the few fucking countries that has the fucking DEATH PENALTY.

Or, alternatively, stop fucking touching kids! I really can't stress that point enough.

Thursday, 11 March 2010

Fuck Natwest

Not for any banking practices. Not for any foul play. For that fucking advert.

"Can anyone tell me what a standing order is?"
"Is it money that comes into your account?"
"You're nearly right."

No. Fuck you. You're the exact fucking opposite of right, in fact.

And if you, you pigged faced dozy fucking mare, don't know the difference, you need to get the fuck out of banking.


New to Living

"Jade: A Year Without Her"

Firstly. Showing it on Living? Is that not just beautifully fucking ironic?

Secondly, fuck you Living. Stop with the exploitative bullshit because these people don't know how to say know when you offer them a large sack of money. You know what you're doing. So fucking stop it.

It should be called A Year Without Hair.

Because she was bald.

Because of the cancer.



Zooey Zooey Zooey Zooey.

Zooey? Zooey!

The crisis of conscience

Has reached breaking point. Fucking bring it.


That is not dancing. That is stepping in rhythm. Fuck you.

Single Ladies. That is how dancing in a video is done. It's also how a good song is done. In fact, it's basically everything that you're not.

I know I've already said this

But I really cannot get over just how bad the E.N.D by the B.E.P. (F.U.C.K acronyms right now) actually is.

I mean, I thought I've Got A Feeling was essentially the worst song in the history of existence. Then, of course, there is Rock Right Now, which basically sounds like somebody forcibly penetrated a chipmunk and recorded the results.

I just googled "I've Got A Feeling lyrics." Fucking Black Eyed Peas came up before The fucking Beatles.

That, ladies and gents, is exactly what the fuck is wrong with the world. Besides the obvious. And more obvious.

Pricks, the lot of you, I hope you realise that.

Russian Roulette

I'm playing Russian Roulette
With a full magazine
It's obscene to believe
These things that I've seen
Pregnant pre-teens
And reality TV stars
Stare back at me
From the covers of magazines

Just leaving this here so I remember it. It's a lyric, obviously, from something that I may or may not be writing in the near future. It's not that I'm sharing it with you, it's just that I happen to be fucking useless at remembering these things. So you can enjoy it too.

Or not. What-the-fuck-ever, right?

Wednesday, 10 March 2010

Just bought the Best of Nirvana

It's a gunshot, a thud and 60 minutes of silence.

Best fucking thing he ever did.

Pretentious grungey dickfucks.

Deal or No Deal

I have no idea why I love this programme so much. It's fucking 22 idiots opening boxes for 45 minutes. How the fuck is that entertaining?

But it is. Judge all you want. Then go and fuck yourselves. I'm the only one allowed to judge around here

That Foxy bingo prick can get the fuck off my TV as well, before I have to curbstomp a motherfucker.

Today has been quite an angry day. So here's something to take the edge off.

Just kidding. Fuck you.

Do you know

What is better than the most recent Black Eyed Peas album?


Seriously, you fucks. You used to be so good. So stay away from the autotune and stop pretending Fergie should be writing songs.

Dear Dave Guetta & Akon

Try fucking harder at not being disrespectful.

Calling someone a Sexy Bitch is probably the most disrespectful thing I can imagine. So fuck off and think about what you're going to say. I'd say come back after you've thought about it, but if you could just stay wherever it is you're fucking off to and make sure you don't taint the airwaves with that drivel again, I'd be much obliged.

Jacques x

Hi, I'm Gavin from Autoglass...

And I am a cunt.

I mean, far be it for me to judge an individual purely on the basis of his performance in those adverts, but he clearly is a massive prick. Just look at the gormless look on his face or the vaguely downs-esque way he talks. I'm sorry for any downs sufferers that may get offended by being compared to Gavin from Autoglass.

He can fill my crack with his special resin any time. And by "fill my crack" I mean "die" and by "with his special resin" I mean "in a fire" and by "any time" I mean "now."

I hate getting frustrated by nothing sometimes, but there you go. Adverts are especially annoying me right now. Those fucking meerkats can fuck right off too. They tried to claim that that it was the most common typo of their site. Are you fucking shitting me? MEERKAT? How can you accidentally type that instead of MARKET? No. Fuck off. How the fuck can someone type comparethe and then suddenly go hideously wrong and type fucking meerkat. My fingers even automatically go to type market when typing meerkat. That's how impossible that typo is. Fucking dicks. Fuck you. Fucking meerkat fuckers.

That GoCompare guy can stay though, anyone who has pissed off as many people as I have deserves my respect. It's at the point where my girlfriend changes the channel whenever it's on. So I've set it as my ringtone. Fuck it, right?

Why must I get frustrated by the littlest of things? There's world hunger, war, discrimination and everything going on right now and I'm fucking complaining about fucking adverts. And saying fucking a fucking lot.

Anyway, I've got more important things to worry about right now so I'm fucking off. Fuck this. I'm never watching TV again. Until Glee, anyway. Fucking bastard TV show is the best thing in existence and I won't hear a bad word about it.

Tuesday, 9 March 2010

I am

Too intoxicated to post. I will bring you shouting tomorrow.

Monday, 8 March 2010

Amy McDonald

Your voice makes me want to touch you inappropriately. That is all.

Foxtrot Oscar

Once more, we have seen the most elaborate, pointless, self-congratulating ceremony in the history of existence - the Oscars. As a great fan of cinema but someone who loathes the cult of celebrity, I'm always quite torn by the Oscars, so my general opinion is formed on the basis of how approving I am of the winners. If they're good, I'm satisfied and they can continue with my approval and if they're not, well, I begin reigning hellfire down upon them. In my mind, of course. I don't actually possess such powers. Not yet, at least...

Can I just say something here? HAHAHAHA! Suck it, Avatar!

Excuse me. That was uncalled for.

Having seen Avatar, I was simply blown away by it. It is an absolutely spellbinding piece of cinema. However, looking back on it, beyond the special effects, it's not all that amazing. The story is, while not bad, not that amazing. The acting is actually surprisingly good, I was quite shocked that it got no nominations at all, especially considering the performances of both lead and supporting actresses were fantastic. The lead and supporting actors were good but nothing outstanding to be honest, so I'm not that surprised in the absence of nominations for that. It won the Oscars that nothing else actually had any right even being nominated for against it, so that was always good.

Inglourious Basterds shamefully didn't win anything beyond best supporting actor. Which, quite frankly, noone else could have taken. Watching Cristoph Waltz switching between 4 languages seamlessly throughout the film is simply superb, all of them as well performed as the previous. I'm surprised that they didn't give him the directorial oscars, what with them passing over him with Pulp Fiction all those years ago. I'm getting ahead of myself, here.

The Hurt Locker. Simply amazing movie. Everybody go and watch it. It deserves everything it won, quite frankly. I'm not going to discuss plot details or anything like that, just go and watch it and enjoy quite frankly.

Precious I've yet to see, but I've heard nothing but great things from the people who share my view on movies, but I can't really judge on its worthiness as a winner. Sandra Bullock seems a bit of an odd choice as well, but then I shan't complain as everybody takes different things from different performances.

Now, I have a friend who swears blind that Avatar is the greatest film of all time. It's probably not a coincidence that she's also from Essex, but that's neither here nor there. The problem I have is the fact she's dismissing the Hurt Locker out of hand. Probably because it's not caked in CG and actually relies on people getting involved with the characters in the film rather than being distracted by the sheer prettiness of it. Even I will admit that I was a little taken in by Avatar and it's smoke and mirror performance, because it is very pretty indeed. But to dismiss a movie just because a different movie happens to exist is a bit of a joke.

The Oscars have a habit of handing out the wrong awards too. 1994. Pulp Fiction was released. Generally regarded by most people as one of the greatest movies of all time. It has changed the way people look at cinema and is always featured in my top 3 movies. How could it possibly lose?

Well, it could also be released at the same time as The Shawshank Redemption. Again, another movie that always sits in my top 3 movies. It didn't change anything, it was nothing revolutionary but it was just so very good at the way it did things that you simply couldn't argue that it was worthy of the best movie award. It also featured Morgan Freeman performing narration, so that was always going to work in its benefit. I want that man to read me bedtime stories, his voice is that amazing.

So, which of these two amazing pieces of cinematography won the Best Picture award?

Forrest Gump. Forrest fucking Gump won it.

There is no reason it should have, really. It's a feel-good movie, sure, and it is quite an enjoyable movie experience. It is not, however, going to feature in many peoples top 3, top 5 or even top 10 movies. I certainly can't think of anyone that rates it that highly. It's a worth best picture winner in a quiet year, I suppose, but it was anything but.

That was almost as bad as the Citizen Kane of Best Picture snubs, Citizen Kane. Which also didn't win best picture. To something that nobody can even remember without looking up. I certainly can't and I refuse to even check. It had grass in the title, I think. Beyond that I have no idea.

Anyway, I've talked about movies enough now, I've got stuff to go and do.

Just one more thing - Sof, there was a reason Jennifer's Body didn't win any oscars. Because it's appalling. Stop pretending it isn't.

Sunday, 7 March 2010

A crisis of conscience?

Technically speaking, I've done nothing wrong.

That's not to say that I haven't, of course. If I were to live my life according to technicalities, I'd live a very pedantic life indeed and we all know that I am anything but pedantic. I'm not really one to preach about morals and such matters, as it's all a matter of viewpoint outside of the few obvious concepts of what right or wrong is. I tend to think that, in all honesty, I'm not that much of a prick. I get angry, shout at a lot of things and have a relatively short temper in such cases, but generally I'm an alright kind of guy. I offend due to my sense of humour but nothing I joke about has any reflection on my feelings of the matter.

I'm generally quite a solitary person in regards to any problems I might have. I'm just not that bothered about talking about problems. Problems get solved. If I need help, then I'll ask, but otherwise these things don't need to be discussed. Of course, I'm a complete hypocrite in the sense that I will force my friends at gunpoint to discuss their problems. That's because they show when something is up and therefore open it up to discussion. I'm reclusive and so they know not that there is an issue.

So the fact I'm even revealing the fact I have this crisis is quite an odd fact, however sometimes one just needs to vent. The fact that I'm aware of two people who read this blog doesn't really hurt the matter either. Obviously, I'm not going to reveal anything. Not unless it gets worse, in which case you'll find me in the nearest off license purchasing the cheapest vodka known to man and will shortly be in attendance at the nearest tree blasting power ballads from my headphones. You're welcome to join me.

This blog post isn't really the greatest thing I've ever written, but from the subject matter, I assume you could've guessed that I'm not really in the right frame of mind.

And if you couldn't figure that out, there's no point in me even insulting you, because you clearly can't fucking read.

Blog forthcoming

I feel bad. I didn't blog yesterday. Not properly, anyway. Digging something out of the archives doesn't count.

The fact this apology is going unread does not bother me.

Saturday, 6 March 2010

One from the archives

I just found this in my drafts. I quite like the shouting. I remember the day I read the article I was discussing. I was fuming.


Dear Lady Gaga...

Hi there. You might not know me. That's understandable, because I'm just another random internet blogger. At least this leaves us on an even keel. Because I'd only ever heard your name before, I have yet to hear any of your supposedly sub-par, generic trash that is currently invading our charts.

However, a friend of mine, who shall not be named (it's cool Sof, they'll never know it's you), showed me a link to a glorious article that described you as more annoying than Katy Perry. Now, we all know that that could not possibly be true, what with the fact that Katy Perry was created from the very seed of Satan himself. You're not that bad, are you? I only ask, because I don't think I'm ever going to give you a chance.

Seriously, what the fucking hell sort of idiot are you? (Were you wondering when I'd first swear? I bet you were). I mean, come on, it must have been some sort of joke. Feminists are man hating, are they? Are you SURE? I only ask because I have several feminist friends. Now, it could be possible that they've merely mistaken me for a female for all these years. But I find that quite unlikely. Although I would also consider myself a bit of a feminist, what with the fact that, quite frankly, we are all fucking equal. Right?

Honestly. Shut the fuck up. Think for two seconds before you say such ignorant, idiotic things. Look, it's like this. People look up to you. Unfortunately, these people are generally quite young and don't have an opinion themselves. So, they form one from everything they read and hear. Now, with a stupid fucking point such as yours uttered, they might take this as truth and therefore become more of a fucking idiot.

I don't mind if you want to cook "your man" dinner and then fuck him. Fair play to you, that's your call. But, lets face it, you're just going to


That is where it ends, folks. I shall not continue it as I feel I couldn't get the sufficient amount of rage to accurately portray how I was feeling.

Although, I hate to say it, I do need to take back the part about her music. It's really quite good. A very good album indeed, in fact. Apart from Poker Face which can still die in a fire.

Still, the original point I was making is that she can still fuck off. Also, for the record, who gives a flying fuckery if she's supposedly a male or female or a bit of both? Seriously? Do you not have anything fucking better to do with your time?

Friday, 5 March 2010

But is it art?

One of the things you may or may not notice in this blog - depending on if you're blinded by the flagrant use of f-bombs - is that nothing I really write about is of any intellectual significance. I like to hide behind the use of bigger words than the average and wear them like a tiny paper helmet of indignance - See? - but nothing I talk about is really that clever.

Today's post will be no different. I just felt the need to point that out.

I was in London today. With my dear friend Laura. As we were in London, we felt we should take in some of the more cultural things the city has to offer by doing... Well... Nothing. We just bummed around and discussed things ranging from the important and the insignificant, such as Laura accidentally catching on fire. I had nothing to do with that.

This led me to start thinking about art, as it usually does, because she never fucking shuts up about the stuff. Warning, if you're offended by swearing, don't read that last sentence. I've never really understood art, in the tangible sense. I mean, music is art, books are art and by that insinuation, this blog is art. Technically, this is comparable to the Mona Lisa. Favourably, in some eyes. But I'm getting sidetracked. Stuff like paintings, sculpture and even photography, I've never really understood. I've been shown pieces of art that all I can honestly see in them is "That looks a bit like a bloke."

Being as I am, I do strive to understand what I'm seeing. But I really struggle to find any deep meaning in it. I can't interpret it the way others do and I can't honestly see beyond the lines on the page or whatever it may be. I love books, reading is one of my real pleasures and the words and images that come from them just jump off the page. Music, as we all know from previous blogs, is basically the be all and end all of my existence.

But art? Nah mate, it's just lines and colour to me. I mean, I can look at a drawing and appreciate it for the technique. But show me a picture and ask me to tell you what I see and what I think it means and I will tell you "I see a bowl of fruit. This means that the artist was painting a bowl of fruit."

The reason I bring this up is because it makes me feel somewhat of an idiot. I have a lot of fairly arty friends and they are always talking about this new exhibition or this new artist. I just sit there, drink another pint and bitterly complain about the fact I have no idea, while abusing the jukebox for not having anywhere near enough showtunes on. Partly I feel quite isolated but the main problem is that I really do want to understand. I also want Christina Hendricks, but I'll settle for the understanding. But Christina Hendricks will do if understanding is not currently available.

Oh, in case this felt like a little too much like civilised conversation, Zane Lowe is such a fucking prick. No reason I mention that now, his was just the first name that jumped out at me when I loaded up the BBC site. That and the fact he's a fucking prick.

I love blogging daily. I also love the fact that Sof does it too, I like having something to read when I get in.

Oh, one more thing - Fuck off, would you kindly?

This is not a blog post.

Ignore what your eyes are telling you. They are deceptive and cannot be trusted.

Thursday, 4 March 2010

Fuck you, you fucking fucks

So, I had a few different subjects that I was writing here. The first one I decided to scrap. The second, my browser crashed. It obviously, of course, only saved the first one, so fuck that. I was going to do a nice reasoned debate about religion and the homophobia that seems to remain therein to this day - Well, I say a debate, but I was essentially shouting at anyone that fucking dares to discriminate against anyone because of their sexuality and telling them that they can fuck off and die in a fire. That also goes for the few gay people that have done so to me in the past, you're not only pricks but fucking hypocrites too.

Anyway, the gist of the article was about this documentary that was on last night. It was about one of the most hated families in America. A bunch of religious fucksticks who take parts of the bible and rather than take it for what it actually says, they twist it to fulfil their own hateful ways.

I have no problem with religion, in general. Whatever you want, or need, to make it through your life is fine by me. What I have a problem with is hatred and intolerance. That might seem like a strange thing to hear from me, as I'm one of the most hate filled individuals I can think of. But not towards groups of faiths or beliefs or race or sexuality or gender. I hate each and every one of you on an individual basis.

Anyway, these people were essentially what I would like to call something that I'm pretty sure isn't even in the dictionary yet, so I'll have to invent it and edit it in once I get it entered into our lexicon. They made me not hate Louis Theroux. I really hate Louis Theroux. I couldn't tell you why, but he just frustrates me more than that time I had to sit in the office working while Katy Perry was played SIX FUCKING TIMES through the course of the day. Yes, I still hate her, just for the record.

They were protesting a soldiers funeral. Now, don't get me wrong, not for one second do I support what he was doing. But show some fucking respect. Someone lost their fucking life. You do not turn up there to protest that he was defending a nation of "fags"

No, you do fucking not. I don't care what you fucking believe in, if there is a God he will fucking make you pay for such a fucking disrespectful showing.

How the fuck can you possibly hate someone just because they belong to a certain "group"? Why the fuck would you even think such a thing? The bible might say such things, but it also says that you shouldn't wear gold or eat pork. I fucking dare you to tell me that you don't do anything like that

Besides, it's a fucking work of fiction.

Just, fuck you, OK? I can't even get a coherent point across because of how fucking angry I am at these fucking people. You make me sick.


Wednesday, 3 March 2010

Always one to make a point

So, I've become one of these ridiculous people that desire to update their blogs on a daily basis. I have no idea why. The problem with this, though, is the distinct lack of rage building up within me. Don't get me wrong, I'm still a deeply angry person who has anger management problems, but the sheer amount of aggression I need to write some of my more spectacular rants hasn't quite been reached as of yet, so instead you get me in a more contemplative mood.

The next big problem is that I never want to write a blog post that doesn't have a point. I don't mind going off on tangents and covering several points, but there tends to always be an underlying point, whether it was anger at the distinct lack of originality in the current music scene or just the way popular culture has declined into a constant barrage of images of people who, to me, look perfectly normal but are apparently both fat and unhip. Hip is probably not a term that gets used that often anymore, so it just goes to show how far out of date I am with this fashionable lingo nonsense, but then I'm hardly one to give a toss now, am I?

Luckily for you, today there was a few things that have actually piqued my interest and I actually feel like I want to discuss and share some possibly slightly different viewpoints with you. Now, bear in mind that I may or may not believe in this views. I'm always one to play the Devil's Advocate because people do need to see things from a different angle before they can accept the opinion that they have as right. There are a few exceptions, of course, in terms of hate and discrimination, but in the vast majority of cases taking an alternative viewpoint to something may just go to reinforce your beliefs.

We've all seen adverts for charities on TV recently, I would assume? Or just in the general media - I know for a fact that I've seen several today on facebook and would imagine that you have too. It's just a subject that really intrigues me. I currently am unable to give money to all the causes I desire, due to the lack of employment. I do not donate like I used to, when I was working I'd give as much as I could, whilst still living the life I enjoy, with all the drinking and gaming that entails (which is a discussion for later.)

However, there are a few people with the opinion that they don't give money to any charities because they can't give to ALL of them. Which, I think you'll agree, is basically a fucking joke. I accept that you can't give to all the charities you deem worthy. That would be ridiculous. But why must all suffer because of that close minded attitude? It's not really a reason not to give, it's just a reason to justify to yourself why you don't. Which, I suppose in a way, is fine, but don't pretend that you're attempting to be a generous person.

One of my friends is also insisting that people in highly paid professions give up a percentage of their wages to give to various charities as well. Which is again an amazing concept that would benefit so many people that it is unreal. But I have to ask, is my friend willing to give up a percentage of HIS wage to these charities? Because if everybody did this, then it would benefit even more people. But, of course, he's not. He also gets angry when I label him a hypocrite because of this. You simply cannot expect people to do something that you would not willingly do yourself. I know that the difference in wages that he and these high earners receive is great, but there's just no justification in what he's saying. Or there might be. Like I said, Devil's Advocate.

Needless to say, his opinion has not changed and he probably thinks less of me simply because I happened to question what he thinks. But that's the problem with things these days, everyone is far too willing to accept. Even amongst the more politically minded people, most are set in their ways and will not attempt to look at things from a slightly different angle. But then, I suppose this is what makes all these greatly passionate people as fantastic as they all are.

I'll just leave that with you to think about.

Tuesday, 2 March 2010


At the behest of Sof, who has apparently taken far too much interest in my writing of late, I am blogging once more.

Have you ever felt like everything you've ever done with your life is completely pointless? You should, because it is. Even an individual as self-important as I am has come to terms with the fact that, no matter what I do, it all essentially counts for nothing.

It's a depressing thought, isn't it?

There are things that do matter at the time, of course. Several things that will be remembered and praised for years to come will occur too. But, at the end of the day, when all is said and done it really doesn't matter at the end of it all. We all die and the human race will come to an end and everything you've ever achieved will cease to matter to the universe.

But fuck that for a blog post. That's far too fucking miserable.

I really don't have anything to say. My life at the moment is such a current non-event that to attempt to write anything about it is completely futile, which ties into the original point of this post.

I am currently bandless. This to me is a good thing. I have been let loose with my creativity and it's really working for me. I'm swapping between genres like crazy. One minute I'll be playing skacore with a hardcore punk edge and the next it'll merge into a hiphop breakbeat. This is both a positive and a negative. My sound isn't very accessible at all, something akin to a blend of Jamie T and the mighty Sonic Boom Six, but then I'm not here to impress you, I'm here to do what I want to do

I still struggle with lyrics. I've never been a huge fan of hiding everything you have to say behind metaphor when you can just be direct. I'm also a massive fan of rhyming as much as possible, because wordplay makes me moist to an extent that only Emma, Laila and Zooey have ever managed. Which is to say, very. The main problem I have is maintaining focus, rather than heading off in a different direction.

Which is something that happens to me a lot, if you look at this blog.

My standup comedy act is also coming along nicely. I'm offending almost everyone with some of the gags, but then I have never exactly been for everyone. I've offended everyone I know at some point, even the people who know me best. It hasn't come as a surprise that my humour is offensive and self deprecating.

I can't be bothered to write anymore. Consider this blog a one off, very rarely do I desire to talk about myself.

Now, be off with you.

Monday, 1 March 2010

I have nothing to put here. Fuck off, I suppose?

So, I'm going to hazard a guess that a large number of people who have ever had the poor chance of a random encounter with me have noticed that I have a great deal of problems with a vast amount of topics. These are, sadly, all superfluous and almost entirely pointless.

Like the random encounter system in the Final Fantasy series, while I remind myself. I'll be honest with you Square. Last time I checked, I was able to ascertain that there was a 50ft giant sandworm or two heading in my general direction for quite some distance before it actually arrived. I was able to do this for as long as I can remember. So why, pray tell, do the characters in your games seem to have the perception of a newborn kitten? Honestly. Why the fuck do they act all surprised when something shows up? More importantly, how the fuck can the aforementioned sandworm sneak up behind you for a surprise attack? They are not subtle. They are the exact opposite of subtle, some might say. They are extremely un-fucking-subtle, would be the main point of this conversation. If I play FFXIIIVIIMCVLIIX (That's the number we're up to now, right?) and find there are random encounters, I swear, I'm only buying the next three or four FF games. It's not like you don't know how. Chrono Trigger is basically what I'd call perfection. Because there's no fucking random encounters.

See what I mean? Completely pointless. There is no point.

I could get angry about important issues - like the distinct lack of equality and the extreme amounts of discrimination between races and genders - but that solves nothing. If people don't act upon these things, words are for nothing. This is the problem. Everyone is far too happy to complain about what is happening out there but nobody wants to take any fucking action. I can write all the words I like but resolutions are not forthcoming. So I'll just go and do things while shouting about minor annoyances here. If you don't like it, well, I don't see anyone forcing you to read this shit, so fuck you. I'm not here to pander to anyone.

You know what I love, though? Eclectic people. They are awesome. They don't care about very much and that's great.

Of course, some of you fuckers have to go and ruin even that for me, don't you? Bastards.

I was at an art market yesterday. Because what I get up to at the weekend is my own fucking business so fuck off. There were quite the few "eclectic" people there. Except none of them were. They were all doing so in a bid to look like cunts. I can safely say mission fucking accomplished. I do hate to use such foul language - no, really - but these people are exactly what is wrong with everything. One girl had a wonderful quirky look. She was wearing a fucking tiara, for fucks sake. But she ruined it by sitting in front of a fucking mirror for half a fucking hour just adjusting it for maximum quirk. Fuck that shit. Seriously. Just get your head out of your fucking arse and stop acting like a dick. If you're doing it to be odd, just fuck you.

It's not just quirky people though. Everyone is obsessed with image. No matter what people need to be the most attractive. It makes me fucking sick. All I see everywhere is fad diets, size 0 models being considered attractive, beauty treatments, fake tans. It's all so ludicrous that it makes me want to stab people in the face just for fucking existing. It's a point I keep making, but no one listens so I'm going to keep going on about it. It's OK for you to look how you do. It's fine, honestly.

You bastards in the alternative scene are the ones that really get me. You're the worst of the fucking lot. How you can even pretend that you're not doing exactly the same fucking thing with an inverted colour scheme is beyond me. You wear branded clothes but it's OK, because they're not "mainstream" brands. You wear a fuckton of makeup, but it's OK because it's dark makeup. You go and fuck yourselves because you're all dic... No, wait. That's just wishful thinking on my behalf. But you would, if you could, wouldn't you? Because you've got such a fucking hard on for how amazingly different you are that you can't see the wood for the fucking trees. You're all fucking the same. And certainly none of you are anything even approaching what you call "punk rock" with your identifit fucking image.

Fuck this, I'm off for work before I break something. I just need to go spend a week doing my hair and makeup before I go tear out a bathroom because everyone's going to be fucking looking at me all the fucking time, right?

Sunday, 28 February 2010

*Insert witty *insert witty title* gag here*

So, here I am. On the train. Typing a blog post with my Blackberry. The only things I'm currently missing are a suit and a smug grin of self satisfaction that can only be attained by earning far too much money from rimming their immediate superior. I mean this metaphorically, of course. I imagine were they to literally rim their bosses, they would be stuck in a perpetual grimace, as one would assume anus is quite the acquired taste.

I really don't have anything much to say. This is more myself testing I am able to blog on the go. Which it seems I am. As you can probably tell. From the fact I'm fucking blogging on the go.

Expect full on angry rants soon. People have once more pissed me off. The porn I am writing will be delayed briefly. Yes, that is something I do now.

Until then, go do something productive and get off the fucking computer for five fucking minutes.

Saturday, 27 February 2010

Test Post

This is a mobile test post. It does not concern you. Nosey prick.