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.
Monday, 29 March 2010
Sunday, 28 March 2010
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.
See, there's a perfectly sensible linguistic explanation behind my choice of insults here.
Saturday, 27 March 2010
Friday, 26 March 2010
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
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
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
Monday, 15 March 2010
Sunday, 14 March 2010
Saturday, 13 March 2010
I've been out all day, so currently I haven't really become too angry. Apart from that Match.com 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.
Sent using BlackBerry® from Orange
Friday, 12 March 2010
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
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.
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
"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.
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.
Because she was bald.
Because of the cancer.
Wednesday, 10 March 2010
Just kidding. Fuck you.
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.
And I am a cunt.
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.
Tuesday, 9 March 2010
Monday, 8 March 2010
Sunday, 7 March 2010
Saturday, 6 March 2010
Friday, 5 March 2010
Thursday, 4 March 2010
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.
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.
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
Tuesday, 2 March 2010
Monday, 1 March 2010
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?