Wednesday, June 30
Banks And Balls
Riiiiight.
You'll all have noticed the new layout. I got bored of the last one (too much grey, not enough black and white), so, inspired by Girdag's new blog (in the Links bar herewith), I changed the layout to something more black and formal. You're quie welcome. Aside from that, service will remain as normal for the forseeable future. But now, it looks like I've actually written lots! Hurrah!
But, an actual update. Lots of ideas have come to mind, actually. Lambasting the idiots who wrote "You loosers" on a picture of David Beckham. Making a Stoner Dictionary. Slating the ex. Or, as the case may be, My Wonderful Bank Adventure.
Ever since I was a foetus growing within Mama Jennings (I think), I've had a kids account for the Woolwich. No longer beibg classable as a kid, said darling Mama has been nagging me to get a "proper" account. Admittedly, I knew I needed to do this...
My bank book. Has seen withdrawls for: plastic men, green, pub trips after sex that never happens. Ah, a good six years...
...but I couldn't be arsed. Until today, I started filling in my form for student funding, a nightmare of beauracracy that deserves an update in itself. But it needed loads of crazy bank numbers I just didn't know. Time to get a new account, thought Chyld.
Part I: Going to the Bank
Knowing I'd need lots of things, I gathered up the following:
>My scrotty old bank book (as shown)
>My passport, complete with spiky-haired picture
>My wallet, containing useful cards
>£7 in loose change, that I was going to put in either way. I am the loony that picks up loose change and hoardes it. Scrap that, I'm loony anyway.
>erm... tasty meat pies? If that point makes any sense to you, either 1.) join the forum, Stalky/anyone else off of FR, or 2.) TASTY PIES, AMY!
Then I left for town. Then realised I'd left the scrotty book behind, and waled all the way back home to fetch it. So what if I'd only walked 50m by then?
Part II: The Man at the Counter, Part One
I got to the bank, and lined up in the queue. As I was the only person in the bank at the time, my waiting time was non-existant. Unlike my average waiting time at the pos office, which is usually long enough for an entire species to be wiped out twice over.
"Hi, I'd like to close this account, and open a shiny new one." I said, in a more nervous and officious tone.
After a few minutes of mad clicking, said man asked "Have you got two forms of identification?"
TWO? OK, one passport, and... one old scrotty bank book?
"Have you got a drivers license?"
No...
"Are you on the Voters Roll?"
Yes...
Promptly, the man rattled off a sheet of paper with my information on it, then promptly asked me where I lived.
Its probably for securitys sake, but having a bank book, passport, and sheet of random paper with it on, it doesn't take too much effort to put two and two together.
After this, I was told to sit down, and wait for another man to come along and fill in the forms with me.
Part III: Man in his Office
After a minute of sitting down watching my trousers not fall down, a man called me into his office. Ooh, lots of officious things to do, I thought.
Not a bit of it.
Essentially, my involvement was to tell him everything I'd already told the first man, which the second man even had on his screen, and sign lots of bits of paper thrust at me.
This sounds shorter than the other bits, which is a lie. It was longer. Just not as 'funny'. Until I was given a copy of the forms I'd signed.
On the last sheet, it gave a list of terms, and reasons my informtion would be disclosed. They generally amounted to "so we can send you spam/junk mail". Except for the last one.
"The only time we will disclose about you is... to our agents and others who work on our behalf."
That made me giggle even then. Out agents? Makes it sound as if, if I don't pay my overdrafts, stealthy ninjas will come and assasinate me in the night! I was very happy that my bedroom was on the top floor of a three-story building. Stil not a problem for Stealthy Woolwich Ninjas, however. Must buy super shiny lazers, or hire pirates to guard me.
As I was deliberaing this, I was given back my many things, and told to see the first man about transfering money from old account to new.
Part IV: The Man At The Counter, Part 2
"Hi, me again."
"..."
"I'd like transfer the money from my old account to my new one, please.
"Rightyo."
"...oh yeah, and I have £7 in change to stick in as well."
"Rightyo."
Once he had done this, Id remembered the reason I'd come, to find shiny numbers to write on the silly form.
"What's my sort code, while I'm here?"
"(insert sort code here)"
"Thanks."
And that was that.
Part V: Get home, and upload a pithy update on my odyssy
Erm...
ThenI've got to fill in that form, fill in another, send them off, all by 2pm, because I've got a game of Warhammer Quest to play. And If you don't know what that is, you wouldn't be interested.
Until tomorrow, compatriots!
You'll all have noticed the new layout. I got bored of the last one (too much grey, not enough black and white), so, inspired by Girdag's new blog (in the Links bar herewith), I changed the layout to something more black and formal. You're quie welcome. Aside from that, service will remain as normal for the forseeable future. But now, it looks like I've actually written lots! Hurrah!
But, an actual update. Lots of ideas have come to mind, actually. Lambasting the idiots who wrote "You loosers" on a picture of David Beckham. Making a Stoner Dictionary. Slating the ex. Or, as the case may be, My Wonderful Bank Adventure.
Ever since I was a foetus growing within Mama Jennings (I think), I've had a kids account for the Woolwich. No longer beibg classable as a kid, said darling Mama has been nagging me to get a "proper" account. Admittedly, I knew I needed to do this...
My bank book. Has seen withdrawls for: plastic men, green, pub trips after sex that never happens. Ah, a good six years...
...but I couldn't be arsed. Until today, I started filling in my form for student funding, a nightmare of beauracracy that deserves an update in itself. But it needed loads of crazy bank numbers I just didn't know. Time to get a new account, thought Chyld.
Part I: Going to the Bank
Knowing I'd need lots of things, I gathered up the following:
>My scrotty old bank book (as shown)
>My passport, complete with spiky-haired picture
>My wallet, containing useful cards
>£7 in loose change, that I was going to put in either way. I am the loony that picks up loose change and hoardes it. Scrap that, I'm loony anyway.
>erm... tasty meat pies? If that point makes any sense to you, either 1.) join the forum, Stalky/anyone else off of FR, or 2.) TASTY PIES, AMY!
Then I left for town. Then realised I'd left the scrotty book behind, and waled all the way back home to fetch it. So what if I'd only walked 50m by then?
Part II: The Man at the Counter, Part One
I got to the bank, and lined up in the queue. As I was the only person in the bank at the time, my waiting time was non-existant. Unlike my average waiting time at the pos office, which is usually long enough for an entire species to be wiped out twice over.
"Hi, I'd like to close this account, and open a shiny new one." I said, in a more nervous and officious tone.
After a few minutes of mad clicking, said man asked "Have you got two forms of identification?"
TWO? OK, one passport, and... one old scrotty bank book?
"Have you got a drivers license?"
No...
"Are you on the Voters Roll?"
Yes...
Promptly, the man rattled off a sheet of paper with my information on it, then promptly asked me where I lived.
Its probably for securitys sake, but having a bank book, passport, and sheet of random paper with it on, it doesn't take too much effort to put two and two together.
After this, I was told to sit down, and wait for another man to come along and fill in the forms with me.
Part III: Man in his Office
After a minute of sitting down watching my trousers not fall down, a man called me into his office. Ooh, lots of officious things to do, I thought.
Not a bit of it.
Essentially, my involvement was to tell him everything I'd already told the first man, which the second man even had on his screen, and sign lots of bits of paper thrust at me.
This sounds shorter than the other bits, which is a lie. It was longer. Just not as 'funny'. Until I was given a copy of the forms I'd signed.
On the last sheet, it gave a list of terms, and reasons my informtion would be disclosed. They generally amounted to "so we can send you spam/junk mail". Except for the last one.
"The only time we will disclose about you is... to our agents and others who work on our behalf."
That made me giggle even then. Out agents? Makes it sound as if, if I don't pay my overdrafts, stealthy ninjas will come and assasinate me in the night! I was very happy that my bedroom was on the top floor of a three-story building. Stil not a problem for Stealthy Woolwich Ninjas, however. Must buy super shiny lazers, or hire pirates to guard me.
As I was deliberaing this, I was given back my many things, and told to see the first man about transfering money from old account to new.
Part IV: The Man At The Counter, Part 2
"Hi, me again."
"..."
"I'd like transfer the money from my old account to my new one, please.
"Rightyo."
"...oh yeah, and I have £7 in change to stick in as well."
"Rightyo."
Once he had done this, Id remembered the reason I'd come, to find shiny numbers to write on the silly form.
"What's my sort code, while I'm here?"
"(insert sort code here)"
"Thanks."
And that was that.
Part V: Get home, and upload a pithy update on my odyssy
Erm...
ThenI've got to fill in that form, fill in another, send them off, all by 2pm, because I've got a game of Warhammer Quest to play. And If you don't know what that is, you wouldn't be interested.
Until tomorrow, compatriots!
Tuesday, June 29
Warning: Speshul Feetaz...
Right, first of all, I need a couple of lines of angry ranting so that the formatting on my one picture for the day actually works. Right, the executive decision on behalf of the permenant Less Is More staff (ie, me, and possibly Super) is that K80 is a bitch. Yes. No need for me to explain why, but she is. So methinx I'm not single for the prom. Good one...
Enough? Enough.
And now, for what I hope will become a regular feature, a Review Of An Album From 2002.
I've noticed recently that many of the CDs in my collection were released in 2002. Both good and bad. In fact, about half my album collection comes from 2002. And why not? 2002 was a golden year for me, the last time I actually had a girlfriend, the year I properly discovered alcahol and generally discovered green. Hell, if we want the lows too, the year I lost my virginity. So it stands to reason, by this pie-eyed chain of coincidences, that 2002 was a good year for my musical tastes.
So, rather than review contemporary releases, I'd like to look at albums from this portentuous time. There's quite enough in my collection now...
Now, to start with, the work of wonder that is Babylon, by Skindred.
Herein be a picture of the band. See, I've got cool text tags now! Groovy!
Seriously, have you ever heard of Dub War? Because I certainly haven't. They exist only as a namecheck on the first Soulfly album, by the name of a guest vocalist, Benji Webbe, and by a man going "Kick up the bass, yo!. But Dub War is the predecessor to Skindred, the only difference being songs played and the choice of bassist.
The premise is a simple one. Take a metal/punk crossover band, and add a groovy ass black guy doing both crazy ragga rapping vocals and singing, and you have Skindred. I discovered the delights of this odd mish mash on a free Kerrang! CD, the same way I discovered half my CD collection. The title track of their album, a furious rant against the police, starting with a squealing guitar line and an extremly fast bout of rapping, continuing in a less squealy vein for four minutes. Delightful, I thought. But due to the utter obscurity of the band, I couldn't find the album, and did nothing else about it for about two years,
Recent developments in the field of eBay/KaAzA resulted in me hearing a few more tracks, and eventually buying the damn thing. Before being told by Johnny Napalm that he got it for free by roadying for them one gig. Git.
But an album review then. The album kicks in with a drum and bass loop, not something I'm particularly averse to, despite my metal roots. This kicks into "Set It Off", a delightfully stomping rap-metal number. No, don't run away, I said rap metal, not nu metal, as some of you may be allergic to.
Most of the album is defined by those things which I dearly love - bastard heavy riffs, precise drumming, and a vocally flexible frontman. On one of my favourite tracks on the album, "Kiss And Make Up" - a delightful number about domestic abuse - Benji quite comftably shows us he's capable of singing, then for the bridge (if thats the right word - I'm a drummer, I know nothing about musical terminology) he launches into a bout of screaming.
There are very few high concepts on Babylon, no politics (apart from the title track bashing the police), but then, no whining about girls. It ranges from songs about banging good tunes ("Selector" - which happens to be a banging good tune itself) to racial prejudice ("Bruises", which is hardly the worst tune on the album, but nothing like the best)
The album only really falls down on two songs. "The Fear", a tirade against bullying with a barrel of unknown guest musicians - comes across as cliched and whiny. And "Together" is a stogy love song, which doesn't cast Mr Webbe as a Romeo, merely a plebe.
My favourite tracks on the album amount to two. "World Domination" is all screaming vocals, roaring guitars, pounding drums, and even has time for odd vocal distortion in the middle. And the album's secret track - dubbed "Vampire Killa", because 'tis what the songs about - is a mental mish mash of bizarre sound effects, silly rapping about hunting vampires in LA, and Benji going "womp" repeatedly, which is the funniest noise I've heard a man make ever.
Incidently, they'r re-recording said album, and adding four new tracks. Well, thanks lads. Just as I'd bought your album the first time round, you go and redo it. What's wrong with just taking more time out and writing a new album entirely? Its a dark day when even the nice guys are screwing you about.
But, at any rate, it might mean youl'll be able to pick up said album, and enjoy its goodness.
Shiny Chyld Album Rating: 7 Shiny Skulls
Operative Word: Womp
Enough? Enough.
And now, for what I hope will become a regular feature, a Review Of An Album From 2002.
I've noticed recently that many of the CDs in my collection were released in 2002. Both good and bad. In fact, about half my album collection comes from 2002. And why not? 2002 was a golden year for me, the last time I actually had a girlfriend, the year I properly discovered alcahol and generally discovered green. Hell, if we want the lows too, the year I lost my virginity. So it stands to reason, by this pie-eyed chain of coincidences, that 2002 was a good year for my musical tastes.
So, rather than review contemporary releases, I'd like to look at albums from this portentuous time. There's quite enough in my collection now...
Now, to start with, the work of wonder that is Babylon, by Skindred.
Seriously, have you ever heard of Dub War? Because I certainly haven't. They exist only as a namecheck on the first Soulfly album, by the name of a guest vocalist, Benji Webbe, and by a man going "Kick up the bass, yo!. But Dub War is the predecessor to Skindred, the only difference being songs played and the choice of bassist.
The premise is a simple one. Take a metal/punk crossover band, and add a groovy ass black guy doing both crazy ragga rapping vocals and singing, and you have Skindred. I discovered the delights of this odd mish mash on a free Kerrang! CD, the same way I discovered half my CD collection. The title track of their album, a furious rant against the police, starting with a squealing guitar line and an extremly fast bout of rapping, continuing in a less squealy vein for four minutes. Delightful, I thought. But due to the utter obscurity of the band, I couldn't find the album, and did nothing else about it for about two years,
Recent developments in the field of eBay/KaAzA resulted in me hearing a few more tracks, and eventually buying the damn thing. Before being told by Johnny Napalm that he got it for free by roadying for them one gig. Git.
But an album review then. The album kicks in with a drum and bass loop, not something I'm particularly averse to, despite my metal roots. This kicks into "Set It Off", a delightfully stomping rap-metal number. No, don't run away, I said rap metal, not nu metal, as some of you may be allergic to.
Most of the album is defined by those things which I dearly love - bastard heavy riffs, precise drumming, and a vocally flexible frontman. On one of my favourite tracks on the album, "Kiss And Make Up" - a delightful number about domestic abuse - Benji quite comftably shows us he's capable of singing, then for the bridge (if thats the right word - I'm a drummer, I know nothing about musical terminology) he launches into a bout of screaming.
There are very few high concepts on Babylon, no politics (apart from the title track bashing the police), but then, no whining about girls. It ranges from songs about banging good tunes ("Selector" - which happens to be a banging good tune itself) to racial prejudice ("Bruises", which is hardly the worst tune on the album, but nothing like the best)
The album only really falls down on two songs. "The Fear", a tirade against bullying with a barrel of unknown guest musicians - comes across as cliched and whiny. And "Together" is a stogy love song, which doesn't cast Mr Webbe as a Romeo, merely a plebe.
My favourite tracks on the album amount to two. "World Domination" is all screaming vocals, roaring guitars, pounding drums, and even has time for odd vocal distortion in the middle. And the album's secret track - dubbed "Vampire Killa", because 'tis what the songs about - is a mental mish mash of bizarre sound effects, silly rapping about hunting vampires in LA, and Benji going "womp" repeatedly, which is the funniest noise I've heard a man make ever.
Incidently, they'r re-recording said album, and adding four new tracks. Well, thanks lads. Just as I'd bought your album the first time round, you go and redo it. What's wrong with just taking more time out and writing a new album entirely? Its a dark day when even the nice guys are screwing you about.
But, at any rate, it might mean youl'll be able to pick up said album, and enjoy its goodness.
Shiny Chyld Album Rating: 7 Shiny Skulls
Operative Word: Womp
Monday, June 28
Gross National Income
Right, I'm back from my week-long hiatus from writing updates. A few extra updates are ready to fire, there are several shiny new ideas ready for me to be arsed to write them, and there's no other easy yet witty way to segue into this update, so I'll get to the point.
Back in the Christmas of 2002, I had just acquired a shiny, yet not new drumkit, still had a shiny, yet not new girlfriend, and was generally at the tail end of the best year I've had in a while. And amongst this, I was bequeathed with a book by one of my dear friends.
It has festered unused since then. The drumkit has languished in the garage for a year and a half, the girlfriend has dumped me, messed me around, and become the subject of half a dozen angsty updates, and the years have gone from good to bad to in-between. And this book has remained relativly unspoiled. And now it gets a digital pasting.
Ladies and gentlemen, may I present the book of Gross Cheques.
This book consists of an assortment of cheques, with promises of "things that make you go YUCK". Joys. So, lets see what horrors lie for anyone I send a cheque too...
I PROMISE TO...
"...give you a Chinese burn"
"...tell everyone you still sleep with a teddy bear"
"...save my farts in a bottle just for you"
"...pee in the pool and blame you"
From these four (the best of a bad bunch), we gather that the targer demographic for this work of high literature is pre-pubescent. Honestly, how can you tell who's pissed in a pool or not? Surely before anyone notices, it will have diffused into the water... lovely imagery, lets stop.
At any rate, I said I'd try storing my farts in a bottle ten years ago, and sodomy with a bottle aside, I'm still none the wiser as to how to do it.
"...ping your bra strap"
...hang on, we've gone from Chinese burns to pinging bra straps? Either they're aiming at very mature pre-pubescents, or someone hasn't reseached their targert audience at all.
But why the pinging? Its so much more evil to just undo the bra completly! It doesn't hurt quite so much, but its miles more embressing...
"...tell everyone your middle name"
"...put your love letters on the school website"
"...tell people you fancy them"
...than this lot. There's no threat to me, however, as I know everyone's middle name as it is, all my love letters were burned in The Big Angry Fire of 2003 (the few survivors aren't really love letters at all, more a case of "I don't love you, stop stalking me, damnit!" letters), and the world already knows who I fancy. Not that I'm not open to suggestions, but no one makes them.
Also, does my school even have a website suitable for reproducing love letters on? Its probably easier just to sign up for a free forum to do it on. Or to erect it in fifty foot high letters of stone.
"...put your hand in warm water when you're asleep"
Just to dispel any notions of pre-pubescence, we're given the ultimate "drunks thing to do" idea. It's never happened to me, and neither have threats that my head will be shaved. So it seems not sleeping with anyone does have some benefits then...
Hold me I'm lonely.
"...put mustard on your dogs bum"
Lets be honest, I'd never heard of that idea until now. And my interest in the results is enough to stop me ever actually doing it.
"...make you smell my trainers"
"...never to use deodrent"
Bad smells=teh funnee!!!11
If I were to never use deodrent, or forced anyone to smell my hiking boots, people would die. Its not a pleasent smell.
"...make things out of my ear wax"
How much ear wax do you have?
"...diss you in public"
An all time low, even for this book. No one in their right mind uses the word "diss" in a real sentence. It's not a verb, its gibberish, at most an abbreviation of "disrespect". Only a smacktard actually uses the word "diss", when "talk shit" works so much better. Oops, can't do that in a book aimed a pre-pubescents wearing bras...
The only other surviving gift from that Christmas was a bottle opener, kept more for its sentimental value than its ability to open bottles, and a photo of me wearing a Budweiser box emblazioned "I Luv (K80) 4Eva!" from my New Years Eve party.
Oh yeah, and add "drum kit" to the above list.
Back in the Christmas of 2002, I had just acquired a shiny, yet not new drumkit, still had a shiny, yet not new girlfriend, and was generally at the tail end of the best year I've had in a while. And amongst this, I was bequeathed with a book by one of my dear friends.
It has festered unused since then. The drumkit has languished in the garage for a year and a half, the girlfriend has dumped me, messed me around, and become the subject of half a dozen angsty updates, and the years have gone from good to bad to in-between. And this book has remained relativly unspoiled. And now it gets a digital pasting.
Ladies and gentlemen, may I present the book of Gross Cheques.
This book consists of an assortment of cheques, with promises of "things that make you go YUCK". Joys. So, lets see what horrors lie for anyone I send a cheque too...
I PROMISE TO...
"...give you a Chinese burn"
"...tell everyone you still sleep with a teddy bear"
"...save my farts in a bottle just for you"
"...pee in the pool and blame you"
From these four (the best of a bad bunch), we gather that the targer demographic for this work of high literature is pre-pubescent. Honestly, how can you tell who's pissed in a pool or not? Surely before anyone notices, it will have diffused into the water... lovely imagery, lets stop.
At any rate, I said I'd try storing my farts in a bottle ten years ago, and sodomy with a bottle aside, I'm still none the wiser as to how to do it.
"...ping your bra strap"
...hang on, we've gone from Chinese burns to pinging bra straps? Either they're aiming at very mature pre-pubescents, or someone hasn't reseached their targert audience at all.
But why the pinging? Its so much more evil to just undo the bra completly! It doesn't hurt quite so much, but its miles more embressing...
"...tell everyone your middle name"
"...put your love letters on the school website"
"...tell people you fancy them"
...than this lot. There's no threat to me, however, as I know everyone's middle name as it is, all my love letters were burned in The Big Angry Fire of 2003 (the few survivors aren't really love letters at all, more a case of "I don't love you, stop stalking me, damnit!" letters), and the world already knows who I fancy. Not that I'm not open to suggestions, but no one makes them.
Also, does my school even have a website suitable for reproducing love letters on? Its probably easier just to sign up for a free forum to do it on. Or to erect it in fifty foot high letters of stone.
"...put your hand in warm water when you're asleep"
Just to dispel any notions of pre-pubescence, we're given the ultimate "drunks thing to do" idea. It's never happened to me, and neither have threats that my head will be shaved. So it seems not sleeping with anyone does have some benefits then...
Hold me I'm lonely.
"...put mustard on your dogs bum"
Lets be honest, I'd never heard of that idea until now. And my interest in the results is enough to stop me ever actually doing it.
"...make you smell my trainers"
"...never to use deodrent"
Bad smells=teh funnee!!!11
If I were to never use deodrent, or forced anyone to smell my hiking boots, people would die. Its not a pleasent smell.
"...make things out of my ear wax"
How much ear wax do you have?
"...diss you in public"
An all time low, even for this book. No one in their right mind uses the word "diss" in a real sentence. It's not a verb, its gibberish, at most an abbreviation of "disrespect". Only a smacktard actually uses the word "diss", when "talk shit" works so much better. Oops, can't do that in a book aimed a pre-pubescents wearing bras...
The only other surviving gift from that Christmas was a bottle opener, kept more for its sentimental value than its ability to open bottles, and a photo of me wearing a Budweiser box emblazioned "I Luv (K80) 4Eva!" from my New Years Eve party.
Oh yeah, and add "drum kit" to the above list.
Friday, June 25
Cell Phones
Oh Myself! I hate cell phones! I hate the multi-functional bullshit of the latest models! Last Wednesday the Holland Team beat Latvia in the Euro Championship 2004 and our very nice Czech friends beat Germany. We wonder well managed it to the quarterfinals. As mentioned before my local pub has this ‘pay-ten-Euros-drink-free-all-night-policy’ and obvious I was wasted when I returned home. Started drinking at 8, coming home at 4:30 and catching my bus to school at 7:15. I can tell you that zombies still show up once in a while. Totally wrecked I arrive at school and one of my class mates starts to take pictures with her cell phone of me. I hate that anyway, I hate it more when I don’t feel too well, and I despise it when you do it with a cell phone. A phone is for phoning! The word phone says it all! P-H-O-N-E. How can you mix up the words phone and camera? What the fuck!? You’re not taking pictures with a goddamn cell phone! When do people learn that things are made for a purpose? A radio is designed to listen music, a toilet is designed to take a shit, a camera is designed to take photographs and a cell phone is designed to phone! That’s the order of things! I still take a shit on the toilet even if I had a million cell phones! And the thing is, since a cell phone can make pictures, everyone starts taking them at random moments of the day! It all are stupid pictures without any reason to shoot them and no one wants to look at them in the first place.
“Look this is Super!”
“Um… why did you take that picture, he isn’t doing anything at all?”
“Because I can…”
Because I can!? That’s no argumentation! I can put a baseball bat up my asshole, dress up like a ballerina and blow George Michael at the same time! But that’s not a reason to actually do it!
I heard the story about exploding cell phones, don’t know exactly why they exploded, but I liked the idea. It should happen more often. Well, more often… it should happen all the time when someone takes a picture.
“Smile!”
Kaboom!
“Oooh, now THAT’s a nasty look. Yigh, is this your nose!?”
Ha! Good! You deserved it! Now die! And rot in hell! Till the End of Times! Jerk!
Argh!
“Look this is Super!”
“Um… why did you take that picture, he isn’t doing anything at all?”
“Because I can…”
Because I can!? That’s no argumentation! I can put a baseball bat up my asshole, dress up like a ballerina and blow George Michael at the same time! But that’s not a reason to actually do it!
I heard the story about exploding cell phones, don’t know exactly why they exploded, but I liked the idea. It should happen more often. Well, more often… it should happen all the time when someone takes a picture.
“Smile!”
Kaboom!
“Oooh, now THAT’s a nasty look. Yigh, is this your nose!?”
Ha! Good! You deserved it! Now die! And rot in hell! Till the End of Times! Jerk!
Argh!
Thursday, June 24
Sad Deluded...
You wouldn't belive this, Super's ruse actually worked yesterday!
So to celebrate this fact, I'm not going to put up any Pictures Of Mary-Kate And Ashley Olsen Twins Kissing, Screwing, Licking, Fucking, Giant Bouncing Breasts Boobies Jugs Tits Nipples, Tounging Cunt With Strap-Ons. You're quite welcome.
I'll be back on Monday, and if anyone wants to give Super a reprive, send me an e-mail...
So to celebrate this fact, I'm not going to put up any Pictures Of Mary-Kate And Ashley Olsen Twins Kissing, Screwing, Licking, Fucking, Giant Bouncing Breasts Boobies Jugs Tits Nipples, Tounging Cunt With Strap-Ons. You're quite welcome.
I'll be back on Monday, and if anyone wants to give Super a reprive, send me an e-mail...
Bureaucracy argh!!
Yay! It’s Thursday! The week is almost done and then Chyldio will take over again. If someone has a guest update for Friday mail it to the known address and it’ll be on tomorrow. Otherwise I’ll try to come up with something or Chyldio will.
I have to do a training assessment this fall, commencing on September the sixth. At the moment it is June the 24th, but somehow my school needs to direct a teacher who will visit me someday at the company where I going to work. So, today I wanted to fix all these blab but to my surprise the lady behind the desk freaked out. What was I thinking? Only arranging this two months before I had to go! Ooooh pressure! Too little time! Help!
And all the time I stood there with my hands in my pockets without a clue where the fuzz was all about. After a minute I thought the hysterical woman was calm again.
I was wrong.
Anyway, another lady showed up and when I explained the story I had a new result: two women freaking out. You are not going to believe it, but another lady needed to hear this amazing story too. So, I again explained the story and ended up again with a freaked out woman. I had to fill in a form wherein I needed to explain why I didn’t arrange these things earlier. Only with a good reason I could get myself a teacher.
In other words, I needed to think of a good story or else I can’t do my training assessment. And that equals: being fucked!
There I sat with a pencil in my hand ready to let my inspiration flow…
“It was on a Friday, I now it quite well, when I was abducted by aliens. They did all kind of experiments with my brain, which obviously was an enormous task for the purple one-eyed creatures. They collected as much data as possible out of my head and therefore I forgot to register for a trainee teacher.”
With all my other information filled in, I gave the papers to the Lady number 1. Only then she realized I had been given the wrong form. I had to do it all again on the proper form. So, there I went again. And when I finished my story again and handled it in she said I needed to bring it to someone else. Okidoki, up to another lady I went. After she read the story she said “Alien Abduction” was not a valid reason. I had to fill in the form again and this time properly. Back I went to Lady Number 1, asking for a new form. How I lost it she asked? “A vicious dog attacked me in the corridor. But nothing to worry about, I’m ok.” She gave me a new form and I thought of a sad family drama. Again I went to the second lady and gave her the form. She knew my story was complete bull, but it fell under ‘private problems’ and this was a valid reason. But because it was a pretty heavy reason I needed to fill in another form. Oh, my God! I now started to get annoyed, but I decided not to loose my cool. Yet.
Again I filled in a form, handled it to the lady, who didn’t even bothered to read the newly form. Autograph under it and everything was ok. “What if I just came up with another alien story?” I asked, but the only response was a roaring sound. With two forms and an autograph I needed to go to yet another person.
This time it was my favorite teacher. I handed him the papers and he looked at me.
“Really?”
“Of course not” I answered “this is total bullshit. I was abducted by aliens, but that’s not a valid reason.”
And now the anti-climax… the guy said: “How long did this crap took you?”
“About 45 minutes.”
“Great!” he said while he threw the papers in the bin. “If you buy me a beer, I’ll be your trainee teacher.” he said with a huge grin on his face.
I have to do a training assessment this fall, commencing on September the sixth. At the moment it is June the 24th, but somehow my school needs to direct a teacher who will visit me someday at the company where I going to work. So, today I wanted to fix all these blab but to my surprise the lady behind the desk freaked out. What was I thinking? Only arranging this two months before I had to go! Ooooh pressure! Too little time! Help!
And all the time I stood there with my hands in my pockets without a clue where the fuzz was all about. After a minute I thought the hysterical woman was calm again.
I was wrong.
Anyway, another lady showed up and when I explained the story I had a new result: two women freaking out. You are not going to believe it, but another lady needed to hear this amazing story too. So, I again explained the story and ended up again with a freaked out woman. I had to fill in a form wherein I needed to explain why I didn’t arrange these things earlier. Only with a good reason I could get myself a teacher.
In other words, I needed to think of a good story or else I can’t do my training assessment. And that equals: being fucked!
There I sat with a pencil in my hand ready to let my inspiration flow…
“It was on a Friday, I now it quite well, when I was abducted by aliens. They did all kind of experiments with my brain, which obviously was an enormous task for the purple one-eyed creatures. They collected as much data as possible out of my head and therefore I forgot to register for a trainee teacher.”
With all my other information filled in, I gave the papers to the Lady number 1. Only then she realized I had been given the wrong form. I had to do it all again on the proper form. So, there I went again. And when I finished my story again and handled it in she said I needed to bring it to someone else. Okidoki, up to another lady I went. After she read the story she said “Alien Abduction” was not a valid reason. I had to fill in the form again and this time properly. Back I went to Lady Number 1, asking for a new form. How I lost it she asked? “A vicious dog attacked me in the corridor. But nothing to worry about, I’m ok.” She gave me a new form and I thought of a sad family drama. Again I went to the second lady and gave her the form. She knew my story was complete bull, but it fell under ‘private problems’ and this was a valid reason. But because it was a pretty heavy reason I needed to fill in another form. Oh, my God! I now started to get annoyed, but I decided not to loose my cool. Yet.
Again I filled in a form, handled it to the lady, who didn’t even bothered to read the newly form. Autograph under it and everything was ok. “What if I just came up with another alien story?” I asked, but the only response was a roaring sound. With two forms and an autograph I needed to go to yet another person.
This time it was my favorite teacher. I handed him the papers and he looked at me.
“Really?”
“Of course not” I answered “this is total bullshit. I was abducted by aliens, but that’s not a valid reason.”
And now the anti-climax… the guy said: “How long did this crap took you?”
“About 45 minutes.”
“Great!” he said while he threw the papers in the bin. “If you buy me a beer, I’ll be your trainee teacher.” he said with a huge grin on his face.
Wednesday, June 23
Blimey...
...the guest updaters are taking over! Or one of them is.
I was going to see if I could palm you all off with my gnarly lightsaber design, but you don't really need palming off, it seems. Ah well, have a looksy anyway. Who says you can't have black lasers? The ex-pats, it seems...
I was going to see if I could palm you all off with my gnarly lightsaber design, but you don't really need palming off, it seems. Ah well, have a looksy anyway. Who says you can't have black lasers? The ex-pats, it seems...
Pay per view!?
The other day I looked at our precious forum and saw Chyldio kind of worried about the 1,000th hit on his blog. Did Visitor number 1,000 made a print screen of the counter? Waiting for the further reactions, I realized it hasn’t been saved. A strange purple cat always said: “It never hurts to help!”
The “it never hurts to help” kept buzzing in my head. I need to help the poor little lamb… The normally rough and tough macho cried big tears. An uncountable amount of tears wetted the red cheeks of the once so proud warrior. Not a single God could stand the weeping of the hurt child, but none could help him out.
And so I had to use my superpowers and save day…
So, on I went with crappy MsPaint and tried to make a forgery picture of the counter hitting the thousand views. But it never satisfied me to betray Chyld, though it looked as if I really were the 1,000th visitor. Other ideas came and went as fast as Jennifer Lopez changes husbands.
And there at the cliff of despair where lightning lit and thunder stroke… There was the perfect solution…
I would have to boost up the counter to another respectable number. I only needed to get another thousand hits! And that is as easy as falling in love! You only need to mention some key words which are on top of all the lists in the Googles, Yahoos and AltaVista’s… So, here we go!
Mary-Kate and Ashley Olsen! Indeed! The annoying Olsen twins will turn eightteen soon which allows them to go into the shady world of porn industry and somehow whole the world is waiting for that. You know who I mean with the Olsen Twins don’t you? The annoying Full House babies grew up and because of a bizar reason everyone wants to see them naked. In other words if I put the words ‘Mary-Kate’, ‘Ashley’, ‘Olsen’, ‘Twins’, ‘naked’ and ‘porn’ in one sentence this blog will hit the 2,000 in no time. I’ll give it a go…
Have you heard about Mary-Kate and Ashley Olsen, also known as the Olsen Twins, who will show up all naked in a porn movie on the very day they turn eightteen.
I did it! The views soon are flooting the blog. But to boost it up even more:
Mary-Kate and Ashley Olsen nude pictures for free!
Up to the 10,000 hits!!
The “it never hurts to help” kept buzzing in my head. I need to help the poor little lamb… The normally rough and tough macho cried big tears. An uncountable amount of tears wetted the red cheeks of the once so proud warrior. Not a single God could stand the weeping of the hurt child, but none could help him out.
And so I had to use my superpowers and save day…
So, on I went with crappy MsPaint and tried to make a forgery picture of the counter hitting the thousand views. But it never satisfied me to betray Chyld, though it looked as if I really were the 1,000th visitor. Other ideas came and went as fast as Jennifer Lopez changes husbands.
And there at the cliff of despair where lightning lit and thunder stroke… There was the perfect solution…
I would have to boost up the counter to another respectable number. I only needed to get another thousand hits! And that is as easy as falling in love! You only need to mention some key words which are on top of all the lists in the Googles, Yahoos and AltaVista’s… So, here we go!
Mary-Kate and Ashley Olsen! Indeed! The annoying Olsen twins will turn eightteen soon which allows them to go into the shady world of porn industry and somehow whole the world is waiting for that. You know who I mean with the Olsen Twins don’t you? The annoying Full House babies grew up and because of a bizar reason everyone wants to see them naked. In other words if I put the words ‘Mary-Kate’, ‘Ashley’, ‘Olsen’, ‘Twins’, ‘naked’ and ‘porn’ in one sentence this blog will hit the 2,000 in no time. I’ll give it a go…
Have you heard about Mary-Kate and Ashley Olsen, also known as the Olsen Twins, who will show up all naked in a porn movie on the very day they turn eightteen.
I did it! The views soon are flooting the blog. But to boost it up even more:
Mary-Kate and Ashley Olsen nude pictures for free!
Up to the 10,000 hits!!
Tuesday, June 22
Yummy, yummy metal grrrls
Rightyo, my very first, official update. Not counting yesterdays test of course. As promised it’s about the Wald Rock festival I visited last Saturday. We had to leave at 10 o’ clock for a strange reason, the doors only opened at noon and it is an hour drive. But we brought Hoef' who didn't want to miss a thing... Anyway, the festival started for me on Friday night when I had to pre-drink and discuss which band I definitely not wanted to miss. This was of course Hatebreed, Testament and Monster Magnet.
Back to Saturday... with a hangover I dragged myself to our rendez-vous and I met the gang. Hoef., Kiend, Bacari-coke, Jimmy and Deb. (Maybe it’s fun to tell Kiend is the Dutch synonym for Chyld, in other words, my gang has it’s very own Chyld too).
At eleven we arrived at the festival terrain and decided to go for our first beer. The weather didn't decide to cooperate if we had to believe the weather forecasters, but so far it was all merry and joy. Then we went to the waiting lines and the sun really showed her face. As we were going to a metal festival everyone was dressed up in black and the sun burned us alive. Luckily a German Girl sold ½ liter cans of beer...
Finally we made it on to the terrain and after I was searched by a cute girl for weapons (I suppose) I could enter. And immediately someone wanted my opinion on the festival so far. "The beer is good..." was the only thing I could answer "and the girl at the door was cute." and not wanted to be a complete ass "and so are you." We're on the way for 2 hours and things were look ok.
Okay, okay, okay! Time to buy festival coins for beer! 50 Euros multiplied by 6 = 300 Euros for beer! Good!
The thing I like about festivals are the cute girls. I always like cute girls, but when I see one in a club most of the time she likes DJ Tiësto, Britney or the Back Street Boys, in other words, she hates music. But when I visit a festival I know they have a good taste. I wasn't in for 15 minutes or Arie and I had talked to several different girls and already were involved in several arguments with over-protecting boyfriends. Things almost went out of control when my Big Mouth decided to insult a type of humanoid that somehow didn't complete the evolution. It was time to move along and get some beers.
First disappointment: Testament was canceled. Argh! But a few new beers solved this and all was merry and joy again. Up to the first band: Transport League. Never heard of it, but they were ok. And afterwards they were the second best band of the day. The weather was so different compared to the doom seekers of the Weather Channel, it was the perfect weather!
Some more bands annoyed me, and I asked myself why did I came along again. But then I heard the speaker announcing Monster Magnet made their appearance. 70 minutes of mosh pit later and I realized this was the reason why I came.
The headliner Cradle of Filth sucked big time, but I already had a good day. It seemed like God hated the annoying singer too and decided to flood the festival with an enormous cloud fracture and so the day ended. I realized I hadn't eaten all day so off to the pub I went with Arie, where the rest of the crew decided to be smart and go to bed.
After a few more beers and a lousy meal it was time to go to bed and dream of the cute metal girls...
Conclusion go to festivals!
ps Half way the festival there was the football match Czech Republic – Holland and of course I don't need to mention the result, but I do need to mention the crappy coward manager of the Holland Team who decided to become the moron of the tournament. If there is something like the burning fires of hell I know a new customer...
Back to Saturday... with a hangover I dragged myself to our rendez-vous and I met the gang. Hoef., Kiend, Bacari-coke, Jimmy and Deb. (Maybe it’s fun to tell Kiend is the Dutch synonym for Chyld, in other words, my gang has it’s very own Chyld too).
At eleven we arrived at the festival terrain and decided to go for our first beer. The weather didn't decide to cooperate if we had to believe the weather forecasters, but so far it was all merry and joy. Then we went to the waiting lines and the sun really showed her face. As we were going to a metal festival everyone was dressed up in black and the sun burned us alive. Luckily a German Girl sold ½ liter cans of beer...
Finally we made it on to the terrain and after I was searched by a cute girl for weapons (I suppose) I could enter. And immediately someone wanted my opinion on the festival so far. "The beer is good..." was the only thing I could answer "and the girl at the door was cute." and not wanted to be a complete ass "and so are you." We're on the way for 2 hours and things were look ok.
Okay, okay, okay! Time to buy festival coins for beer! 50 Euros multiplied by 6 = 300 Euros for beer! Good!
The thing I like about festivals are the cute girls. I always like cute girls, but when I see one in a club most of the time she likes DJ Tiësto, Britney or the Back Street Boys, in other words, she hates music. But when I visit a festival I know they have a good taste. I wasn't in for 15 minutes or Arie and I had talked to several different girls and already were involved in several arguments with over-protecting boyfriends. Things almost went out of control when my Big Mouth decided to insult a type of humanoid that somehow didn't complete the evolution. It was time to move along and get some beers.
First disappointment: Testament was canceled. Argh! But a few new beers solved this and all was merry and joy again. Up to the first band: Transport League. Never heard of it, but they were ok. And afterwards they were the second best band of the day. The weather was so different compared to the doom seekers of the Weather Channel, it was the perfect weather!
Some more bands annoyed me, and I asked myself why did I came along again. But then I heard the speaker announcing Monster Magnet made their appearance. 70 minutes of mosh pit later and I realized this was the reason why I came.
The headliner Cradle of Filth sucked big time, but I already had a good day. It seemed like God hated the annoying singer too and decided to flood the festival with an enormous cloud fracture and so the day ended. I realized I hadn't eaten all day so off to the pub I went with Arie, where the rest of the crew decided to be smart and go to bed.
After a few more beers and a lousy meal it was time to go to bed and dream of the cute metal girls...
Conclusion go to festivals!
ps Half way the festival there was the football match Czech Republic – Holland and of course I don't need to mention the result, but I do need to mention the crappy coward manager of the Holland Team who decided to become the moron of the tournament. If there is something like the burning fires of hell I know a new customer...
Monday, June 21
Muppets on a chain
Hello good citzens!
While half of the board is busying himself or herself with school, and our uber-mod is one of them, he gave me update powers! Slowly, but steady I’m taken over the world now! One day you all will be my slaves! Muwahahaha!
Sorry, about that... it carried me away… It isn’t too clever to give a schizo any powers, but now it’s too late!
Anyway, this was a test. Tomorrow I’ll tell you about the Wald Rock festival I visited this weekend!
Cheers
Super
Two updates in a day? What is the world coming to? - Chyld
While half of the board is busying himself or herself with school, and our uber-mod is one of them, he gave me update powers! Slowly, but steady I’m taken over the world now! One day you all will be my slaves! Muwahahaha!
Sorry, about that... it carried me away… It isn’t too clever to give a schizo any powers, but now it’s too late!
Anyway, this was a test. Tomorrow I’ll tell you about the Wald Rock festival I visited this weekend!
Cheers
Super
Two updates in a day? What is the world coming to? - Chyld
Week Off: Day 1
Right, like I said, I'm taking the week off to revise, write new material, etc. So don't be suprised when you find nothing funny here.
However, offers are always open for guest updates. Send them in and I'll whack them up when I get them.
On a similar note, I've added SuperMarct to the staff formerly. Now you'll see his name under his guest updates, not mine.
Right, now, revision...
However, offers are always open for guest updates. Send them in and I'll whack them up when I get them.
On a similar note, I've added SuperMarct to the staff formerly. Now you'll see his name under his guest updates, not mine.
Right, now, revision...
Friday, June 18
I Like Being Driven In My Car...
As I type, I am on an unknown motorway between Gordano serivce station and Amersham.
The Family Jennings returns from the funeral service of one of its First Ladies, and after yesterday's utterly wasted update, it does not feel appropriate to write about it. Suffice to say, it was a very nice service.
But that's not why I fired up the laptop, what will be "earlier" when I upload this, but "now" at the time of writing. There surely has to be something said for car journeys.
Every other holiday until recently, we have packed up our stuff, and crossed the country to visit the family in Devon, And roughly every year until recently, we have done the same, only crossing into the next country, the one full of frog-eaters and onions. Factor this out via means of me being eighteen venerable years old, and I would call myself a veritable expert on being a passenger during long car journeys.
Here, therefore, is my insights into being a non-fatal passanger in long car journeys.
Chyld's Insights Into Being A Non-fatal Passanger In Long Car Journeys.
1.) Never Sit Next To Little Brother.
I hate mankind. I've grown used to it, can smile at its nicest examples, get along with the humans I call friends, and can plot the gory end of my foes without actually doing it and getting arrested for it. However, annoying people are just that - annoying. I refused to be stuck in a car with someone annoying, it annoys me.
Little Brother, clever, dumb, or otherwise, is the most annoying human being in the Universe. Everything he says or does is calculated to ten significant figures to tick me off as much as humaly possible. Combine these two volitile elements withing a meter of each other for four-eight hours, and blood flows.
Therefore, by mutual agreement of everyone in the family, Big Brother sits in the middle of the car. I deplore not his presense, and LB enjoys the presense. Mother and Father are not driven to bloodlust by Chyld and Little Brother beating each other, and crashes are avoided.
2.) Bring a CD player. Or a laptop. Or thieve BB's.
3/5ths of the family are pop-loving cretins (although Father claims to have been in a band hat opened for Eric Clapton). 1/5th is partial pop-loving cretin, part pop-metaller/punk. 1/5th is writing this update. Right now, I am listening to Sepultura (quite 1337 enough for you, SM?), while the rest of the family is listening to... Brittany Spears. God Almighty! The values esposed by either Mrs Speared-on-penis, or God, will not be discussed here, I need Big Brother alive.
Therefore, I need me my CD player, in order to play the blissful sound of angry men screaming. Oh yeah, all my CD players are broken! Damn Woolworths/eBay crap.
Next option is my laptop. Either the CD drive can be plugged in, or one of the 20 saved albums on the hard drive can be brought to the fore. Perfect? Not with only 2 hours of battery!
When all else fails, Big Brother's Neva-Shok CD player can be borrowed for the purposes. Although the problem with that is thqat the pop-evilness needs expunging before I can use it, and the incense annoys Father, who is trying to drive.
3.) FEED ME!
Amy, K80, tiny1, and just about any other lady whos walked with me anywhere at any time will know what a gigantic appetite I pocess. Not just for food, though! There, contractual item of innuendo included for today...
Basically, I need feeding regularly, not too easy in a moving car. Traditionlly, Mother packs a large volume of eatables, but its usually crap. However, this time, it was proper edible munchy pastry/meaty gubbins. Considering that I was whacked off of my face on excellent skunk yesterday, this was much appreciated.
Such blessings aside, it is usually up to me to provide tasty goodness. Either buying it before, taking too much effort not to eat it right away, or buying it on the way, at usually a 1000% cost markup. Ghey.
4.) No Porn
Sounds odd? Yep. If I get horny now, its going to be very, very embaressing.
5.) Sleep
Well, is there much else to do? Eat tasty pies? Listen to Slipknot? Play Commander Keen again? When you're wasted in a car full of people you don't want to talk to, there's nothing else to do.
6.) Enjoy the scenery
OK, I'm tripping over my heels now.
If no one overly objects, I'd like to take a week off of writing updates next week, in order to muster new ideas, revise for my final exams, etc. If I come up with anything cool, I'll put it up.
Finally, a joke my little cousin told me. Both amusing and cringsome! Wahey!
"...and Jesus spake to John 'Come forth my son, and you shall have eternal life!' Unfortunatly, he came fifth, so he only won a toaster."
The Family Jennings returns from the funeral service of one of its First Ladies, and after yesterday's utterly wasted update, it does not feel appropriate to write about it. Suffice to say, it was a very nice service.
But that's not why I fired up the laptop, what will be "earlier" when I upload this, but "now" at the time of writing. There surely has to be something said for car journeys.
Every other holiday until recently, we have packed up our stuff, and crossed the country to visit the family in Devon, And roughly every year until recently, we have done the same, only crossing into the next country, the one full of frog-eaters and onions. Factor this out via means of me being eighteen venerable years old, and I would call myself a veritable expert on being a passenger during long car journeys.
Here, therefore, is my insights into being a non-fatal passanger in long car journeys.
Chyld's Insights Into Being A Non-fatal Passanger In Long Car Journeys.
1.) Never Sit Next To Little Brother.
I hate mankind. I've grown used to it, can smile at its nicest examples, get along with the humans I call friends, and can plot the gory end of my foes without actually doing it and getting arrested for it. However, annoying people are just that - annoying. I refused to be stuck in a car with someone annoying, it annoys me.
Little Brother, clever, dumb, or otherwise, is the most annoying human being in the Universe. Everything he says or does is calculated to ten significant figures to tick me off as much as humaly possible. Combine these two volitile elements withing a meter of each other for four-eight hours, and blood flows.
Therefore, by mutual agreement of everyone in the family, Big Brother sits in the middle of the car. I deplore not his presense, and LB enjoys the presense. Mother and Father are not driven to bloodlust by Chyld and Little Brother beating each other, and crashes are avoided.
2.) Bring a CD player. Or a laptop. Or thieve BB's.
3/5ths of the family are pop-loving cretins (although Father claims to have been in a band hat opened for Eric Clapton). 1/5th is partial pop-loving cretin, part pop-metaller/punk. 1/5th is writing this update. Right now, I am listening to Sepultura (quite 1337 enough for you, SM?), while the rest of the family is listening to... Brittany Spears. God Almighty! The values esposed by either Mrs Speared-on-penis, or God, will not be discussed here, I need Big Brother alive.
Therefore, I need me my CD player, in order to play the blissful sound of angry men screaming. Oh yeah, all my CD players are broken! Damn Woolworths/eBay crap.
Next option is my laptop. Either the CD drive can be plugged in, or one of the 20 saved albums on the hard drive can be brought to the fore. Perfect? Not with only 2 hours of battery!
When all else fails, Big Brother's Neva-Shok CD player can be borrowed for the purposes. Although the problem with that is thqat the pop-evilness needs expunging before I can use it, and the incense annoys Father, who is trying to drive.
3.) FEED ME!
Amy, K80, tiny1, and just about any other lady whos walked with me anywhere at any time will know what a gigantic appetite I pocess. Not just for food, though! There, contractual item of innuendo included for today...
Basically, I need feeding regularly, not too easy in a moving car. Traditionlly, Mother packs a large volume of eatables, but its usually crap. However, this time, it was proper edible munchy pastry/meaty gubbins. Considering that I was whacked off of my face on excellent skunk yesterday, this was much appreciated.
Such blessings aside, it is usually up to me to provide tasty goodness. Either buying it before, taking too much effort not to eat it right away, or buying it on the way, at usually a 1000% cost markup. Ghey.
4.) No Porn
Sounds odd? Yep. If I get horny now, its going to be very, very embaressing.
5.) Sleep
Well, is there much else to do? Eat tasty pies? Listen to Slipknot? Play Commander Keen again? When you're wasted in a car full of people you don't want to talk to, there's nothing else to do.
6.) Enjoy the scenery
OK, I'm tripping over my heels now.
If no one overly objects, I'd like to take a week off of writing updates next week, in order to muster new ideas, revise for my final exams, etc. If I come up with anything cool, I'll put it up.
Finally, a joke my little cousin told me. Both amusing and cringsome! Wahey!
"...and Jesus spake to John 'Come forth my son, and you shall have eternal life!' Unfortunatly, he came fifth, so he only won a toaster."
Thursday, June 17
Out And About...
Chyld: Right, its Chyld and CompleteAnarchy, and yep, we've got MASHED....
CompleteAnarchy (CA): who gave a hciky 2 herakl street?
Chyld: We're stuck round CA's computer, listening to Weird Al Yankovic! \m/
CA: so we hav a topic 4 2day........ the stoner horoscopes =)
Chyld: Someone is NOT Patrick Moore, CA! Get on with it then!
CA: ok 1st we hav the crab person errrrmmmmm (C: cancer) ok kool ya that 1 u will currently b goin thu a dry pate later in your area but dont weorrry this will b greated by a nu delviery shortly
Chyld: I think that's Pisces actually. Well, if you're Sagitarius, you've be my dad, who would be very funny if he had a pipe. Maybe a bubble pipe. Or it's Little Brother, whos' blonde, annoying and eats toast. CA?
CA: errrrmmmmm cant thing of ne ithers......oooooooo the unicorn 1 torarse hehe...u will b paid back for favuors in the past..lucky u!
Chyld: Torn Arse, CA? Suggesting something, are we? So anyway, we have Libra, like Mother, and you sister used to like Alice Cooper, but acts like an old woman now? Went to Reading, for some reason. I'm just carrying on a family tradition...
CA: wooo reading bitches juz over 2monthes2go =) and whos goin mofo..me fosho... =S munkey...*pause for headbanging******IIIII GOOOTTTAAAA HAAVVVV FFFFFFFFAAAAAIIIITTTTTTTTTTTHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH x4 BBBBBBBBAAAAAAAABBBBBBBBBBBBBBYYYYYYYYY* ok neway so who do u think are oing to be the highlights of this years line up?
Chyld: Watch the tone of the webisite go straight down the plughole.... So anyway, I believe my highlight of the weekend will be THE EIGHTIES MATCHBOX B-LINE DISASTER! :D:P:S There's also all the headliners, Hundred Reasons, loads in the Radio 1 and Carling tents, The Wildhearts, and of course hooting loads of bongs!
CA: wooo provided by who i wonder =P whoop whoop OMG trippy music bass bass bass bass wooooo....errrmmmm neway the white stripes are poooooooooo....hey Chyld giv me the kerrang 4 the list...ok my highlight for reading 2004 is....*drum roll*...headlineers part from,white stripes =P offspring, the hives, 100 reasons, reel big fish, soulwax, franz f, the vines, funeral4a friend, har mar, a, sick of it all, goldfinger =) bouncing souls, flogging molly...as well as kool stuff in the carling and if im mashed in the dance =).. and im done
Chyld: W00t! Not long until the prom. If my date decides not to throw more issues at me within two weeks, we all know who i'm taking ;-) I'm probably going by my car/Tadpole's car. WTF are you doing then, CA? Got a woman?
CA: not yet but i know i will goin 2 b aaaammmmazin and guess wot im not wearin a tux =P
Chyld: And guess what? I've already told you I'm going out, so I'll say it again for CA's benefit:
1.) Shagged.
2.) Pissed.
3.) Utterly STONED! :S
I've got to leave tomorrow for Devon, so I'll upload something serious on Saturday again. Soz about that, lads and amy (and tiny1. leave me alone!) but it's for a respectable reason. Shit, I'll need to go in 20 minutes to pack. Only a week and a day of exams. So say us with exams...
CA: o the 1 earlyer on that woz on didnt do 2 bad i thought hopefully it will b 3rd time lucky lol. only 2 more to go now....party time
Chyld: lol? lol! What The Fiddling Diddles was that? I've got three exams on the monday, stupid me! Need to revise P2 Maths. It'll be hard to do. Oops, innuendo and out the other! Freedom beckons! Later for my than CA, but freedom=freedom=peebles! NOT snotballs, little shapes with feelers!
*malcom in the middle theme enters here...*
CA: y im in this world there is no point explain in
ur not the boss of me now and ur boss so big!!!!!!!
Chyld: People=shit, cannabis=pwns! OK, it seems this party is coming to a close. I'll be back on Saturday, and Frank might be in the forums straight after. Talking crap. Oh well, its different crap. Bye bye, everybody, bye bye...
CA: thiss is my closing statement...bye
Chyld: Quite right.
*madness, not Madness*
CompleteAnarchy (CA): who gave a hciky 2 herakl street?
Chyld: We're stuck round CA's computer, listening to Weird Al Yankovic! \m/
CA: so we hav a topic 4 2day........ the stoner horoscopes =)
Chyld: Someone is NOT Patrick Moore, CA! Get on with it then!
CA: ok 1st we hav the crab person errrrmmmmm (C: cancer) ok kool ya that 1 u will currently b goin thu a dry pate later in your area but dont weorrry this will b greated by a nu delviery shortly
Chyld: I think that's Pisces actually. Well, if you're Sagitarius, you've be my dad, who would be very funny if he had a pipe. Maybe a bubble pipe. Or it's Little Brother, whos' blonde, annoying and eats toast. CA?
CA: errrrmmmmm cant thing of ne ithers......oooooooo the unicorn 1 torarse hehe...u will b paid back for favuors in the past..lucky u!
Chyld: Torn Arse, CA? Suggesting something, are we? So anyway, we have Libra, like Mother, and you sister used to like Alice Cooper, but acts like an old woman now? Went to Reading, for some reason. I'm just carrying on a family tradition...
CA: wooo reading bitches juz over 2monthes2go =) and whos goin mofo..me fosho... =S munkey...*pause for headbanging******IIIII GOOOTTTAAAA HAAVVVV FFFFFFFFAAAAAIIIITTTTTTTTTTTHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH x4 BBBBBBBBAAAAAAAABBBBBBBBBBBBBBYYYYYYYYY* ok neway so who do u think are oing to be the highlights of this years line up?
Chyld: Watch the tone of the webisite go straight down the plughole.... So anyway, I believe my highlight of the weekend will be THE EIGHTIES MATCHBOX B-LINE DISASTER! :D:P:S There's also all the headliners, Hundred Reasons, loads in the Radio 1 and Carling tents, The Wildhearts, and of course hooting loads of bongs!
CA: wooo provided by who i wonder =P whoop whoop OMG trippy music bass bass bass bass wooooo....errrmmmm neway the white stripes are poooooooooo....hey Chyld giv me the kerrang 4 the list...ok my highlight for reading 2004 is....*drum roll*...headlineers part from,white stripes =P offspring, the hives, 100 reasons, reel big fish, soulwax, franz f, the vines, funeral4a friend, har mar, a, sick of it all, goldfinger =) bouncing souls, flogging molly...as well as kool stuff in the carling and if im mashed in the dance =).. and im done
Chyld: W00t! Not long until the prom. If my date decides not to throw more issues at me within two weeks, we all know who i'm taking ;-) I'm probably going by my car/Tadpole's car. WTF are you doing then, CA? Got a woman?
CA: not yet but i know i will goin 2 b aaaammmmazin and guess wot im not wearin a tux =P
Chyld: And guess what? I've already told you I'm going out, so I'll say it again for CA's benefit:
1.) Shagged.
2.) Pissed.
3.) Utterly STONED! :S
I've got to leave tomorrow for Devon, so I'll upload something serious on Saturday again. Soz about that, lads and amy (and tiny1. leave me alone!) but it's for a respectable reason. Shit, I'll need to go in 20 minutes to pack. Only a week and a day of exams. So say us with exams...
CA: o the 1 earlyer on that woz on didnt do 2 bad i thought hopefully it will b 3rd time lucky lol. only 2 more to go now....party time
Chyld: lol? lol! What The Fiddling Diddles was that? I've got three exams on the monday, stupid me! Need to revise P2 Maths. It'll be hard to do. Oops, innuendo and out the other! Freedom beckons! Later for my than CA, but freedom=freedom=peebles! NOT snotballs, little shapes with feelers!
*malcom in the middle theme enters here...*
CA: y im in this world there is no point explain in
ur not the boss of me now and ur boss so big!!!!!!!
Chyld: People=shit, cannabis=pwns! OK, it seems this party is coming to a close. I'll be back on Saturday, and Frank might be in the forums straight after. Talking crap. Oh well, its different crap. Bye bye, everybody, bye bye...
CA: thiss is my closing statement...bye
Chyld: Quite right.
*madness, not Madness*
Wednesday, June 16
Tales from the Crypt: Stupidity
For your joy, we have short stories again! Only today, they're all about the gross stupidity
1.) The other night, the family was seated around an outside table having a barbeque. Convosation eventually began, after it had enjoyed a brief coma, and moved onto the subject of the Sun.
As you may remember, Venus crossed the Sun the other day. And it won't happen for another 243 years, as The Times told us, across half the front page. Goos to know that they're focusing on events as they happen. But anyway, The Mother asked which of her offspring had actually watched this portentuous event.
"I might watch it tonight." he said.
Consider that a.) There was at most only an hour or two of daylight left. b.) You can't see the sun at night. c.) we had been specifically told that it had happened a good six hours ago.
2.) I was doing my paper round the other month. Well, actually about to cross a road on the way to do it, as you do.
This will make no sense, unless you know the geography of Amersham on the Hill, so here is a brief stage set-up. There is a road, the road my paper shop is on. Halfway along the road, is a zebra crossing, the point where I sought to cross. Right opposite this is a bank. Specifically, a Woolwich bank. For the minding of finances, like most banks.
As I said, I sought to cross at this zebra crossing, and only jus avoided being hit by an idiot in a white van who stopped right across the crossing. Exactly where it is illegal to stop at all, I think.
The driver, not content with nearly running me over, decided to persist in his stupidity. Getting out of his dodgy vehicle, he made as to ask me a question, facilitating me pausing my CD player (bless it, its hinges are broken now) and removing the headphones from my ears.
" 'Scuse me, mate, can you tell me where the nearest Woolwich bank is?"
Check the concluding sentence of the second paragraph of this rambling monologue, and understand the aggrevation as an arm of mine extended lazily in the direction of the bank. Headphones were replaced in ears shortly after.
3.) Ebay. Wonderful, isn't it? I've seen and heard of all sorts of things being sold on it. But that's for another update. The importent thing to note is that you can buy Yu Gi Oh cards on it. These horrific specimens are like Pokemon, only no where near as cuddly, and shitloads more confusing. And somehow, both brothers are smitten.
Big Brother, being marginally more computer-literate than Little Brother (that is an insult to the former, and a compliment to the latter), employs the means of eBay and forums to satate his fetish for card emblazoned with monsters. Fair enough, I buy little men on eBay, and my mum buys computer roles. No biggie, apart from the oddly inverted gender roles...
The other week, perhaps the day of the eclipse, I found him having an arguement with some poor unfortunate from a You Gay? Oh... forum. It was a very vicious one, at that.
"What ails you, brethren?" I asked.
"He's outbidding me on a card." was his main point.
I swore like a sailor at this point. Its a public bloody auction, and my smacktard of a brother actually thought he was the only one allowed to bid on the auction.
If I ever find the poor guy on the other end, I will apologise like crazy. If he ever gets to meet my brother and doesn't punch him in the head repeatedly, the guys an idiot.
I'm quite sure I've got more stories of stupidity, but I can't remeber anything, and this is the season for short updates. They'll be long again one day...
1.) The other night, the family was seated around an outside table having a barbeque. Convosation eventually began, after it had enjoyed a brief coma, and moved onto the subject of the Sun.
As you may remember, Venus crossed the Sun the other day. And it won't happen for another 243 years, as The Times told us, across half the front page. Goos to know that they're focusing on events as they happen. But anyway, The Mother asked which of her offspring had actually watched this portentuous event.
"I might watch it tonight." he said.
Consider that a.) There was at most only an hour or two of daylight left. b.) You can't see the sun at night. c.) we had been specifically told that it had happened a good six hours ago.
2.) I was doing my paper round the other month. Well, actually about to cross a road on the way to do it, as you do.
This will make no sense, unless you know the geography of Amersham on the Hill, so here is a brief stage set-up. There is a road, the road my paper shop is on. Halfway along the road, is a zebra crossing, the point where I sought to cross. Right opposite this is a bank. Specifically, a Woolwich bank. For the minding of finances, like most banks.
As I said, I sought to cross at this zebra crossing, and only jus avoided being hit by an idiot in a white van who stopped right across the crossing. Exactly where it is illegal to stop at all, I think.
The driver, not content with nearly running me over, decided to persist in his stupidity. Getting out of his dodgy vehicle, he made as to ask me a question, facilitating me pausing my CD player (bless it, its hinges are broken now) and removing the headphones from my ears.
" 'Scuse me, mate, can you tell me where the nearest Woolwich bank is?"
Check the concluding sentence of the second paragraph of this rambling monologue, and understand the aggrevation as an arm of mine extended lazily in the direction of the bank. Headphones were replaced in ears shortly after.
3.) Ebay. Wonderful, isn't it? I've seen and heard of all sorts of things being sold on it. But that's for another update. The importent thing to note is that you can buy Yu Gi Oh cards on it. These horrific specimens are like Pokemon, only no where near as cuddly, and shitloads more confusing. And somehow, both brothers are smitten.
Big Brother, being marginally more computer-literate than Little Brother (that is an insult to the former, and a compliment to the latter), employs the means of eBay and forums to satate his fetish for card emblazoned with monsters. Fair enough, I buy little men on eBay, and my mum buys computer roles. No biggie, apart from the oddly inverted gender roles...
The other week, perhaps the day of the eclipse, I found him having an arguement with some poor unfortunate from a You Gay? Oh... forum. It was a very vicious one, at that.
"What ails you, brethren?" I asked.
"He's outbidding me on a card." was his main point.
I swore like a sailor at this point. Its a public bloody auction, and my smacktard of a brother actually thought he was the only one allowed to bid on the auction.
If I ever find the poor guy on the other end, I will apologise like crazy. If he ever gets to meet my brother and doesn't punch him in the head repeatedly, the guys an idiot.
I'm quite sure I've got more stories of stupidity, but I can't remeber anything, and this is the season for short updates. They'll be long again one day...
Tuesday, June 15
Coming Soon To A Desktop Near You...
Lets diversify, for a minute.
I'd like to talk about all the exciting (sort of) things I have lined up as updates for this summer. Ironic really, since at the time of writing, there's very little to write about as it is.
More Exam Bitchings
At the time of writing, I am in the midst of my A levels, the most importent exams I will ever take. Since the GCSEs I took a few years ago. And the SATS exams I took a few years before that. And, of course, until I take whatever exams are required for a Philosophy degree. Notice a pattern here?
Nonetheless, once I take an exam I remember the actual content of, I'll regurgiate it into Notepad, and tell you all about how useless it is.
My Prom
This should be fun. Not long after said exams, after the year below us try poisioning us at the Leavers Lunch, we have the Prom. Technically, an excuse to dress up in suits and say goodbye to each other, in some cases for the last time. However, given my statuses as a.) Adolesent b.) Stoner c.) K80 Worshipper, my priorities are so far off of that mark, its not even funny. In order of what will probably happen, here is my plan:
-Get to prom, with K80, Tadpole, AmyJay, and whoever else will fit in a car or two.
-Find the bar. Drink. Maybe buy a round.
-Get up off my arse and dance. Whether in a group, with my date, or simply alone, it will be done very, very badly.
-Drink. Buy a round. Get merry.
-From here, the ultimate course will be, in order of preference.
--Provocative things which result in me getting sex, or as close as possible.
--Get utterly ratted on anything vaguely alcaholic.
--Band together with Frank, and get stoned out of my mind.
-Somehow get home without having my clothes ripped off in the passion, or ripped in the fights that will ensure.
An actual account of events (maybe as a guest update from someone else if I have that much fun) will be posted, with appropriate pictures of (me being a fool/any willing Less Is More crew/my lady fair). Delete as desired.
Barge Holiday
Four days going up and down a canal on a narrow boat. I'm hoping for a weeks worth of updates from this, but I fear that, without it being very tedious, I'll only get one update, maybe two.
How I'm going to keep track of it is beyond me. My options are:
1.) Laptop-based notes. A fine plan, foiled by my laptop only having a two-hour battery, and there being no electricity on a canal boat. Maybe there is? A giant car battery? I'll have to find out beforehand.
2.) Paper notes. A fine reserve plan, not so easy to convert into HTML, but fine nonetheless. Can't be anything too explicit, however. My diaries of the America trip were either a.) five words a day average b.) addressed to K80, at a point where I thought I had a realistic chance. Ha ha ha! So therefore unprintable on the Internet without me looking an utter fool. She hasn't seen them, either, don't worry...
3.) Organic memory. Ha ha ha ha ha! Yeah right.
Reading Festival
Ah yes. Reading Festival. Highlight of the summer, unless I become not-single, in which case... NO YOU WON'T GET PORN! Sick perverts. You want to see me naked?
...moving back to Reading. I can see a week or so of updates coming from this one, but much less time to make notes. Obviously, the trusty laptop can't come with me, it'd be stolen by Thursday teatime.
For further preliminary notes, see my update on it from the other month.
University
I see big changes ahead. Just before Reading, I will get my exam results, then realise I should have revised harder. But, with skill, I will actually get a university place. My succsess will be paraded across the site with great gusto, and whole months worths of updates will be drawn on me deliberating the changes. Oh yes. But no "life suxx!!!!11", if at all possible.
Getting Utterly Stoned Off Of MY Face
Expect at least one update written while I can barely move my arms, let alone think straight.
While we're planning ahead, I'm not going to be here on Friday, as I have a funeral to go to. Thankfully, we'll have a guest update by then. From someone not called SuperMarct? Man, you've done enough already!
I'd like to talk about all the exciting (sort of) things I have lined up as updates for this summer. Ironic really, since at the time of writing, there's very little to write about as it is.
More Exam Bitchings
At the time of writing, I am in the midst of my A levels, the most importent exams I will ever take. Since the GCSEs I took a few years ago. And the SATS exams I took a few years before that. And, of course, until I take whatever exams are required for a Philosophy degree. Notice a pattern here?
Nonetheless, once I take an exam I remember the actual content of, I'll regurgiate it into Notepad, and tell you all about how useless it is.
My Prom
This should be fun. Not long after said exams, after the year below us try poisioning us at the Leavers Lunch, we have the Prom. Technically, an excuse to dress up in suits and say goodbye to each other, in some cases for the last time. However, given my statuses as a.) Adolesent b.) Stoner c.) K80 Worshipper, my priorities are so far off of that mark, its not even funny. In order of what will probably happen, here is my plan:
-Get to prom, with K80, Tadpole, AmyJay, and whoever else will fit in a car or two.
-Find the bar. Drink. Maybe buy a round.
-Get up off my arse and dance. Whether in a group, with my date, or simply alone, it will be done very, very badly.
-Drink. Buy a round. Get merry.
-From here, the ultimate course will be, in order of preference.
--Provocative things which result in me getting sex, or as close as possible.
--Get utterly ratted on anything vaguely alcaholic.
--Band together with Frank, and get stoned out of my mind.
-Somehow get home without having my clothes ripped off in the passion, or ripped in the fights that will ensure.
An actual account of events (maybe as a guest update from someone else if I have that much fun) will be posted, with appropriate pictures of (me being a fool/any willing Less Is More crew/my lady fair). Delete as desired.
Barge Holiday
Four days going up and down a canal on a narrow boat. I'm hoping for a weeks worth of updates from this, but I fear that, without it being very tedious, I'll only get one update, maybe two.
How I'm going to keep track of it is beyond me. My options are:
1.) Laptop-based notes. A fine plan, foiled by my laptop only having a two-hour battery, and there being no electricity on a canal boat. Maybe there is? A giant car battery? I'll have to find out beforehand.
2.) Paper notes. A fine reserve plan, not so easy to convert into HTML, but fine nonetheless. Can't be anything too explicit, however. My diaries of the America trip were either a.) five words a day average b.) addressed to K80, at a point where I thought I had a realistic chance. Ha ha ha! So therefore unprintable on the Internet without me looking an utter fool. She hasn't seen them, either, don't worry...
3.) Organic memory. Ha ha ha ha ha! Yeah right.
Reading Festival
Ah yes. Reading Festival. Highlight of the summer, unless I become not-single, in which case... NO YOU WON'T GET PORN! Sick perverts. You want to see me naked?
...moving back to Reading. I can see a week or so of updates coming from this one, but much less time to make notes. Obviously, the trusty laptop can't come with me, it'd be stolen by Thursday teatime.
For further preliminary notes, see my update on it from the other month.
University
I see big changes ahead. Just before Reading, I will get my exam results, then realise I should have revised harder. But, with skill, I will actually get a university place. My succsess will be paraded across the site with great gusto, and whole months worths of updates will be drawn on me deliberating the changes. Oh yes. But no "life suxx!!!!11", if at all possible.
Getting Utterly Stoned Off Of MY Face
Expect at least one update written while I can barely move my arms, let alone think straight.
While we're planning ahead, I'm not going to be here on Friday, as I have a funeral to go to. Thankfully, we'll have a guest update by then. From someone not called SuperMarct? Man, you've done enough already!
Monday, June 14
Feed The Beast
First off, apologies for the absense of an update on Friday. However, unlike last week, it wasn't the guest updaters at fault (even though no one sent me anything. Again. Gits.) It was left empty as a mark of respect, as my granma passed away on Thursday, bless her soul.
However, I have noticed a trend recently, of me heading down the "life suxx!!!11" path. I am defiling one of the founding principles of Less Is More, and I'm disgusted by myself. So only the first time this week then? Therefore, funnies this week.
I eat all kinds of incredible junk. My philosophy is that I have a digstive system, therefore I use it. Here, for the sake of an update, are some of these things. Part horror-list, part cookbook.
Paper
The trump card of this theme, it seems. I used to eat paper all the time. I've been alive for 18 years, and it hasn't done me any harm at all. Since the insanity seems to be hiereditary...
Its quite simple. I take a sheet of regular, A4 paper (recycled or otherwise), tear off a strip, roll it up, then chew it. It provides a good work out for my jaws, and if I still did it regularly, I could feasably bite off the end of a lump of wood.
Then, once its all pulpy, I swallow. It's shedloads more filling than anything else a man can eat. Let me tell you, two sheets of A4 paper is nearly as filling as a full meal, if not as filling as. Top tip for you anorexics!
It is importent to note two things about this, though. That shiny paper you usually find junk mail is made out of is revolting. Imagine buying a MacDonalds burger, but forgetting to remove the paper wrapper/polystyrene box. That's exactly what eating shiny paper is like, only without the grease. Also, you should not garnish your paper with anything. Sauces are better spent on chips and burgers, and pen/pencil, while never having killed me, might be a bit much for your delicate anatomies.
Cheese and Biscuits Mark Two
I love cheese on toast, with Lea and Perrins. Its a perfect lunchtime food. As is a cheese sandwich with lots of pickle on it. No butter should grace it, though, as butter is a plague and a pestilance unless its melted. But grate some chedder cheese, spread it on a slice of toast, add Lea and Perrins, then grill for five minutes, and you have an ideal sandwich.
Having been told off many times for not cleaning the cheese-coated grill afterwards, I decided to explore the microwave for my cheesy goodness. And it worked. Very, very quickly. Ths led me on, the other day, for updating the ancient classic of Cheese and Biscuits, as much beloved by The Father.
Take a number of cheese biscuits, as many as will fit on a suitable plate. Grate some cheese, and make a mound of cheese on each biscuit, about two and a half inches high, and an inch diameter around the bottem. Pour a small amount of Lea and Perrins onto each pile of cheese.
Put in the microwave, and heat on full power for ten seconds. Remove.
The cheese will be a bubbling pool sitting nicely on top of each biscuit. Now eat, and enjoy the loveliness.
String and Material
As with paper, I would eat pieces of string, or string-like material when I was young. Once in a blue moon, I will still do this. But only if I really, really want to.
"The Trimby Max"
This one requires lots of explaining. For a start, I used to be a Scout. You know, green uniforms, tents, burnt meals over campfires, etc. But before the Scouts, for those of Little Brothers age, there was Cubs. And round here, theres two groups, Milan and Trimby. Milan were the extremly boring lot that actually knew how to put up tents, as patronised ten years ago by me, Big Brother, and Tadpole The Lanky One. Then there was Trimby, the group that actually had fun, as patronised by Just About Everyone Else Ever.
I did help at a few Trimby camps before everyone else gave up the whole Scouting lark, so I became privy to the delights of the Trimby Max. Sounds elaborate Hell no. It was two different cereals, in the same bowl, seperated by a Weetabix.
But lets be honest, when your mother refuses to buy you anything but Minibix, the oppertunity to diversify is lept upon.
Women
What do you mean, April Fools Day was about three months ago? And yes, I am single and very desperate, leave me alone. Or don't, as the case may be. El Oh El.
Incidently, you do have an entire forum that you can discuss this in, just to tell people who don't post yet, to remind members who aren't Dutch to actually post, and to tell the Dutch to stop posting so damn much...
However, I have noticed a trend recently, of me heading down the "life suxx!!!11" path. I am defiling one of the founding principles of Less Is More, and I'm disgusted by myself. So only the first time this week then? Therefore, funnies this week.
I eat all kinds of incredible junk. My philosophy is that I have a digstive system, therefore I use it. Here, for the sake of an update, are some of these things. Part horror-list, part cookbook.
Paper
The trump card of this theme, it seems. I used to eat paper all the time. I've been alive for 18 years, and it hasn't done me any harm at all. Since the insanity seems to be hiereditary...
Its quite simple. I take a sheet of regular, A4 paper (recycled or otherwise), tear off a strip, roll it up, then chew it. It provides a good work out for my jaws, and if I still did it regularly, I could feasably bite off the end of a lump of wood.
Then, once its all pulpy, I swallow. It's shedloads more filling than anything else a man can eat. Let me tell you, two sheets of A4 paper is nearly as filling as a full meal, if not as filling as. Top tip for you anorexics!
It is importent to note two things about this, though. That shiny paper you usually find junk mail is made out of is revolting. Imagine buying a MacDonalds burger, but forgetting to remove the paper wrapper/polystyrene box. That's exactly what eating shiny paper is like, only without the grease. Also, you should not garnish your paper with anything. Sauces are better spent on chips and burgers, and pen/pencil, while never having killed me, might be a bit much for your delicate anatomies.
Cheese and Biscuits Mark Two
I love cheese on toast, with Lea and Perrins. Its a perfect lunchtime food. As is a cheese sandwich with lots of pickle on it. No butter should grace it, though, as butter is a plague and a pestilance unless its melted. But grate some chedder cheese, spread it on a slice of toast, add Lea and Perrins, then grill for five minutes, and you have an ideal sandwich.
Having been told off many times for not cleaning the cheese-coated grill afterwards, I decided to explore the microwave for my cheesy goodness. And it worked. Very, very quickly. Ths led me on, the other day, for updating the ancient classic of Cheese and Biscuits, as much beloved by The Father.
Take a number of cheese biscuits, as many as will fit on a suitable plate. Grate some cheese, and make a mound of cheese on each biscuit, about two and a half inches high, and an inch diameter around the bottem. Pour a small amount of Lea and Perrins onto each pile of cheese.
Put in the microwave, and heat on full power for ten seconds. Remove.
The cheese will be a bubbling pool sitting nicely on top of each biscuit. Now eat, and enjoy the loveliness.
String and Material
As with paper, I would eat pieces of string, or string-like material when I was young. Once in a blue moon, I will still do this. But only if I really, really want to.
"The Trimby Max"
This one requires lots of explaining. For a start, I used to be a Scout. You know, green uniforms, tents, burnt meals over campfires, etc. But before the Scouts, for those of Little Brothers age, there was Cubs. And round here, theres two groups, Milan and Trimby. Milan were the extremly boring lot that actually knew how to put up tents, as patronised ten years ago by me, Big Brother, and Tadpole The Lanky One. Then there was Trimby, the group that actually had fun, as patronised by Just About Everyone Else Ever.
I did help at a few Trimby camps before everyone else gave up the whole Scouting lark, so I became privy to the delights of the Trimby Max. Sounds elaborate Hell no. It was two different cereals, in the same bowl, seperated by a Weetabix.
But lets be honest, when your mother refuses to buy you anything but Minibix, the oppertunity to diversify is lept upon.
Women
What do you mean, April Fools Day was about three months ago? And yes, I am single and very desperate, leave me alone. Or don't, as the case may be. El Oh El.
Incidently, you do have an entire forum that you can discuss this in, just to tell people who don't post yet, to remind members who aren't Dutch to actually post, and to tell the Dutch to stop posting so damn much...
Thursday, June 10
No Love, Actually
Unfortunatly for me, I am human.
By and large, I deplore my species. We are the species that tore a hole in the ozone layer, we are the species that thought George Bush was an ideal candidate for leading a superpower country, we are the species that champions gangsta rap as music. Admittedly, we have the Americans to blame for most of this, but they're too much of an easy target, and also good people individually.
However, being a human, I do a number of things. I piss, I eat, I corrupt the world to make my life easier, and I interact with other people. Yet, maybe thankfully for mankind, but not for me, one aspect of my humanity seems to elude me over all other things.
Why do I have to fight like a mule to even get close to women emotionally, when some guys quite literally just pick them up off of the street?
This summer already seems to be becoming a summer of love (just ask Tiny1...), and I myself have come so close to joining in, having actually been kissed! by a girl! who I like! If anyone cares for the outcome of that, heres a summery I can get away with. You know how some of you get regular sex? You know how some of you get any sex at all? I didn't, and it doesn't seem I will.
So really, the best way of turning my situation around, is to look at what I'm doing wrong in the eyes of women, and correct it. Has anyone else seen the flaw in this already?
That's right, not even the women know what they're after!
It is commonly quoted that "women like nice guys". A fine principle, but it only works fifty per cent of the time. I'm told repeatedly, by women and men, that I'm a nice guy (hell, if I don;t brag, no one will), and I've been very single for nearly a year and a half. With only half a dozen stolen kisses, and the very rare grope (without the favour returned, usually) to tide me by.
Common sense dictates that "women like fit guys". Which is obvious, since guys like fit girls. Note for the not-English: fit as in attractive, not fit as in muscley. Muscley women are an eyesore, I believe. The problem lies in what defines a fit guy, since women are far worse at promoting what they look for in men than us men do for women. And its hardly like I'm an eyesore. Apart from the vague mantitties. And the gangly arms. And the Mick Jagger Mullet. It may sound a lot, but really, is it so much?
Is it my metalhead appearence? I like my baggy, slightly muddy jeans. They show how "metal" I am. If I were told this were the problem, I'd be quite screwed, since my entire wardrobe is full of baggy, frayed, easily-muddied jeans. And is there so much wrong with a beanie in high summer?
Basically, I can't see what I'm doing wrong, and I'm not convinced that the readership of this 'ere blog is in a position to enlighen me, being mostly male, or failing that, just good friends. Neither really material for falling in love with. There is occasionly one exception, but she's essentially shot me down, and I'm still a-burning.
Is it just confidence? You wouldn't know it to hear me over the Internet. Or even know it to look at me, provided I already know. Yes, I am flamboyantly confident, but only because of familiarity. If I went into a bar without my rampant hoardes, chances are I'd have a few pints and leave, unable to muster the confidence to actually even try and talk to a girl, let alone drag her home for a night in the sack, let alone anything near a serious relationship.
So, I don't know.
Oh, I'm sorry, were you after something funny? Try the chap next door...
By and large, I deplore my species. We are the species that tore a hole in the ozone layer, we are the species that thought George Bush was an ideal candidate for leading a superpower country, we are the species that champions gangsta rap as music. Admittedly, we have the Americans to blame for most of this, but they're too much of an easy target, and also good people individually.
However, being a human, I do a number of things. I piss, I eat, I corrupt the world to make my life easier, and I interact with other people. Yet, maybe thankfully for mankind, but not for me, one aspect of my humanity seems to elude me over all other things.
Why do I have to fight like a mule to even get close to women emotionally, when some guys quite literally just pick them up off of the street?
This summer already seems to be becoming a summer of love (just ask Tiny1...), and I myself have come so close to joining in, having actually been kissed! by a girl! who I like! If anyone cares for the outcome of that, heres a summery I can get away with. You know how some of you get regular sex? You know how some of you get any sex at all? I didn't, and it doesn't seem I will.
So really, the best way of turning my situation around, is to look at what I'm doing wrong in the eyes of women, and correct it. Has anyone else seen the flaw in this already?
That's right, not even the women know what they're after!
It is commonly quoted that "women like nice guys". A fine principle, but it only works fifty per cent of the time. I'm told repeatedly, by women and men, that I'm a nice guy (hell, if I don;t brag, no one will), and I've been very single for nearly a year and a half. With only half a dozen stolen kisses, and the very rare grope (without the favour returned, usually) to tide me by.
Common sense dictates that "women like fit guys". Which is obvious, since guys like fit girls. Note for the not-English: fit as in attractive, not fit as in muscley. Muscley women are an eyesore, I believe. The problem lies in what defines a fit guy, since women are far worse at promoting what they look for in men than us men do for women. And its hardly like I'm an eyesore. Apart from the vague mantitties. And the gangly arms. And the Mick Jagger Mullet. It may sound a lot, but really, is it so much?
Is it my metalhead appearence? I like my baggy, slightly muddy jeans. They show how "metal" I am. If I were told this were the problem, I'd be quite screwed, since my entire wardrobe is full of baggy, frayed, easily-muddied jeans. And is there so much wrong with a beanie in high summer?
Basically, I can't see what I'm doing wrong, and I'm not convinced that the readership of this 'ere blog is in a position to enlighen me, being mostly male, or failing that, just good friends. Neither really material for falling in love with. There is occasionly one exception, but she's essentially shot me down, and I'm still a-burning.
Is it just confidence? You wouldn't know it to hear me over the Internet. Or even know it to look at me, provided I already know. Yes, I am flamboyantly confident, but only because of familiarity. If I went into a bar without my rampant hoardes, chances are I'd have a few pints and leave, unable to muster the confidence to actually even try and talk to a girl, let alone drag her home for a night in the sack, let alone anything near a serious relationship.
So, I don't know.
Oh, I'm sorry, were you after something funny? Try the chap next door...
Wednesday, June 9
Oh Dear...
You know what? I've got nothing to write about today.
Nope, the creative juices are running on low lately, and I'm quite worried its a trend that isn't going to change.
I spent a good half hour on Google image search hunting for silly pictures, but I had no luck, unless finding the schematics for a regular bong counts as a succsess.
I flirted with scanning some Reading pictures and putting them up, but tiny pictures of a few bands are not interesting, you've all seen the famous "Chyld with a hookah" picture, and I doubt anyone who went wants their picture slathered across a tiny corner of the internet.
I was all up for saying why maths is useless in real life situations, but not remembering any of the P3 paper I disastrously cocked up only an hour or so ago didn't help. Plus, its not that interesting.
Which leaves the weather, really. Nope, nothing funny there. Except for the fact that its not very sunny here in Britain often, which isn't.
So, in conclusion, I need some fresh material.
You know my e-mail address. Find something for me to lambast, I'll hop to it.
That's all for now, go away.
Nope, the creative juices are running on low lately, and I'm quite worried its a trend that isn't going to change.
I spent a good half hour on Google image search hunting for silly pictures, but I had no luck, unless finding the schematics for a regular bong counts as a succsess.
I flirted with scanning some Reading pictures and putting them up, but tiny pictures of a few bands are not interesting, you've all seen the famous "Chyld with a hookah" picture, and I doubt anyone who went wants their picture slathered across a tiny corner of the internet.
I was all up for saying why maths is useless in real life situations, but not remembering any of the P3 paper I disastrously cocked up only an hour or so ago didn't help. Plus, its not that interesting.
Which leaves the weather, really. Nope, nothing funny there. Except for the fact that its not very sunny here in Britain often, which isn't.
So, in conclusion, I need some fresh material.
You know my e-mail address. Find something for me to lambast, I'll hop to it.
That's all for now, go away.
Tuesday, June 8
I Blither, Therefore I Am
So, in these troubled times of Chyld, who am I?
To my family, I am Andrew. The blackest black sheep of the family, out until ridiculous hours of the night at the pub (or "the pub", as the case may be), steadfastly not working as hard as he could, and of dubious appearence. Bitterly sarcastic, yet quite loveable.
To my friends, I am Jennings. Spawn of the family of the same name, and cursed with the same gibbering insanity of his brothers, only tempered by being vaguely intelligent. Relativly introverted, doesn't get out as often as most people, except for the odd pub trip, and the just as odd stoner trip. Talks a great wad of nonsense, yet quite loveable.
To the stoners, I am also Jennings. Will occasionly come out for a blaze, and while not the biggest toker in the world, will hold it for absolutly ages. Even more gibbering than normal, and usually unable to move easily.
To the internet, I am Chyld. Usually found with the suffix "_of_Slaanesh" blessing Black Orc with his own unique brand of parsnip-based nonsense, regularly found caressing the assorted Lance and Eskimo forums with his... hugginess, and other times updating his blog that, if two dozen people regularly read, he'd eat his balls.
Upon eBay, I am part of Fat Joey Ramirez. Originally an account designed to buy my drum kit at much cheaper rates than normal (£170? Yes please!), then extended to allow for Warhammer models, than taken over by The Mother for her spending needs, now more recently hijacked by Big Brother for (pity me) Yu Gi Oh cards. Oh sweet Jesus help...
To the musically inept, I am a metaller. Garbed in black T-shirts and loose denim, listening to bands who actually play instruments, with frontmen that do more than rap about guns and bee-atches. Keep your bling bling, I'm fine with men wearing masks and boiler suits.
To someone of the opposite sex, fictional or otherwise, I am The One. The alpha, the only, the ideal. I am he that they will fall in love with, sleep with, marry, settle down with, have children with, and die with. Well, it seems that no one I know is willing to even fall into a short-term version of this. For now, its me and My Right Hand against the world.
To the old, I am a teenager. The scourage of the country, drinking, fighting and stealing anything and everything, sleeping around like no mans business, and leeching off of the economy.
To foreigners, I am British. Cucumber sandwiches and scones all around, old boy, and lets follow George Bush to war after war after war! Fish and chips for dinner, and a jolly old round of croquet!
To those not of this world, I am human. Carbon-based, and desended from a species of monkey. Raping the planet we live on for the sake of a few fossil fuels, and still not clever enough to travel interstellar differences. Or make hover craft. Or not burn at the first sight of the sun.
To me, I am myself. My greatest ally. The only one that truly understands me, the only one that always agrees with what I say, the only one who will do exactly what I want done.
To you, I have been ripping off Yahtzee's idea for an update, because there was nothing else to write.
To my family, I am Andrew. The blackest black sheep of the family, out until ridiculous hours of the night at the pub (or "the pub", as the case may be), steadfastly not working as hard as he could, and of dubious appearence. Bitterly sarcastic, yet quite loveable.
To my friends, I am Jennings. Spawn of the family of the same name, and cursed with the same gibbering insanity of his brothers, only tempered by being vaguely intelligent. Relativly introverted, doesn't get out as often as most people, except for the odd pub trip, and the just as odd stoner trip. Talks a great wad of nonsense, yet quite loveable.
To the stoners, I am also Jennings. Will occasionly come out for a blaze, and while not the biggest toker in the world, will hold it for absolutly ages. Even more gibbering than normal, and usually unable to move easily.
To the internet, I am Chyld. Usually found with the suffix "_of_Slaanesh" blessing Black Orc with his own unique brand of parsnip-based nonsense, regularly found caressing the assorted Lance and Eskimo forums with his... hugginess, and other times updating his blog that, if two dozen people regularly read, he'd eat his balls.
Upon eBay, I am part of Fat Joey Ramirez. Originally an account designed to buy my drum kit at much cheaper rates than normal (£170? Yes please!), then extended to allow for Warhammer models, than taken over by The Mother for her spending needs, now more recently hijacked by Big Brother for (pity me) Yu Gi Oh cards. Oh sweet Jesus help...
To the musically inept, I am a metaller. Garbed in black T-shirts and loose denim, listening to bands who actually play instruments, with frontmen that do more than rap about guns and bee-atches. Keep your bling bling, I'm fine with men wearing masks and boiler suits.
To someone of the opposite sex, fictional or otherwise, I am The One. The alpha, the only, the ideal. I am he that they will fall in love with, sleep with, marry, settle down with, have children with, and die with. Well, it seems that no one I know is willing to even fall into a short-term version of this. For now, its me and My Right Hand against the world.
To the old, I am a teenager. The scourage of the country, drinking, fighting and stealing anything and everything, sleeping around like no mans business, and leeching off of the economy.
To foreigners, I am British. Cucumber sandwiches and scones all around, old boy, and lets follow George Bush to war after war after war! Fish and chips for dinner, and a jolly old round of croquet!
To those not of this world, I am human. Carbon-based, and desended from a species of monkey. Raping the planet we live on for the sake of a few fossil fuels, and still not clever enough to travel interstellar differences. Or make hover craft. Or not burn at the first sight of the sun.
To me, I am myself. My greatest ally. The only one that truly understands me, the only one that always agrees with what I say, the only one who will do exactly what I want done.
To you, I have been ripping off Yahtzee's idea for an update, because there was nothing else to write.
Monday, June 7
The Black And Orange Truth
That's right folks! If no one sends me a guest update, I don't put up anything instead! Since half the active readership keeps telling me "I haven't looked for a while", I really do wonder why I keep at it. I warn ye now, less apathy. I can stop updating, and if I can't be arsed, I will.
Enough scolding for the day, methinx. So, to divert us, they're finally making a proper Garfield movie then.
For those of you who live in a lonely shack on a mountain, you're very lucky to hasve broadband in your area. But apart from that, you'll need to be told that Garfield is a cartoon cat, whose three main cards are: eating, sleeping, and being even more scathing than me on a horrendous day. But its still remarkably funny. And has been going for about twenty five years. And now he's being taken to celluliod.
To be quite honest, while there's nothing funnier than a previously unseen book of Garfield cartoons (well, if you don't factor in "anything while you're stoned"), there's plenty of reasons to fear the film. Here they are.
1.) Garfield, boys and girls, is a cartoon. Cartoons allow suspension of disbelief. A cat who is actually round, a man who can stick bananas in his ears, being able to fit 200 sardines in your mouth, et cetera.
But it's a live action film. Oh dear.
As far as I can tell, Jon, who is supposed to be Big Brother in ink, is being played by either the Spiderman guy, or the lead guy from one of the millions of "American Pie" clones. I don't know jack shit about mainstream culture. Either way, I bet my nads that he won't come across as "pathetic, cat-abused 30-something batchelor", but "poor unfortunate with a heart of gold, who gets the girl in the end". We're not supposed to sympathise with Jon, we're supposed to laugh as Garfield steals his dinner. God damned Hollywood.
(Footnote: In hindsight, I've no idea what teh last paragraph had to do with the fact it's live action, but its still very, very true.)
1a.) As a tangent on this, Garfield himself is the only character who is CGI. It didn't work for Scooby Doo, I'm dubious it'll work for our favourite fatty feline.
This is offset, however, by the fact that the CGI Garfield is actually quite good, unlike the perpetually-hungry hound. But it does make Odie look a bit, well, normal, Since instead of a dog with a gigantic neck, they used a beagle. Ho hum.
2.) I mentioned Hollywood, right? You know what Hollywood are after? Bling bling, foshizzle. Artistic integrity goes out the window for the sake of shininess there. I know, I've been. The Whisky-a-go-go, anyone? You need to sell tickets before your band can actually play there.
What am I on about? The point is, once Hollywood touches it, the point goes out the window.
Garfield uses Odie, the dog with the mindset of Little Brother, as a beating post. He is out to beat six shades of shit out of the dog. And what I gather from the plot summery, Odie gets kidnapped and, I quote, "insert quote here, numbnuts!" Yeah, good one.
Plus, I can tell from here that Jon is going to get off with Liz the vet. In 25 years, all he's got from her is one kiss ("Human love, its so glandular" commented Garfield), but now, because some LA fatcat has got a slice of the pie, Jon will impress Liz somehow, and they'll get married and live happily ever after.
Have I ever said that I hate all of mankind?
3.) More of a general point, but how does Garfield actually comminucate with anyone?
The film neatly sorts this out by making Garfield a fully paid-up talking cat. While this is quite fine for a Hollywood audience, it doesn't stand very well with people like me who actually give a damn about this sort of thing.
See, Garfield seems to talk to his adoring fanbase by thinking, and this has been used several times in gags involving telephones, and the immortal line "Wonder why cat's don't talk? If we did, no one would like us!". However, more often than not, Garfield says things and Jon understands. In my Vulan-esque mindset, this is illogical. Unless Jon is really a telepathic kitty mind-reader!
See how worked up I can get over points that don't matter? Phear me when the points do...
4.) The preview video crashed my computer the first time I tried to look at it. This isn't really a point against the film, but I don't like it.
Apparently, its coming out on June 11th, but since I didn't hear about it at all until Little Brother started looking at the Garfield website, I doubt it'll be out here so soon. And seriously, I've got enough net/film/general nerd friends to find out about stuff like this well in advance.
Needless to say, when it comes out, I shall see it, and hopefully find it defies my expectations. Obviously, I've now created a paradox. Woop de doo.
Short update, really. So to close, a poem I found the other day.
Love Poem, by Harry Munn
Her eyes were bright
as she reached out
and touched me with her
smooth, white hand.
I trembled,
excitedly;
as she happened
to be clutching
a live electric cable,
at the time.
Enough scolding for the day, methinx. So, to divert us, they're finally making a proper Garfield movie then.
For those of you who live in a lonely shack on a mountain, you're very lucky to hasve broadband in your area. But apart from that, you'll need to be told that Garfield is a cartoon cat, whose three main cards are: eating, sleeping, and being even more scathing than me on a horrendous day. But its still remarkably funny. And has been going for about twenty five years. And now he's being taken to celluliod.
To be quite honest, while there's nothing funnier than a previously unseen book of Garfield cartoons (well, if you don't factor in "anything while you're stoned"), there's plenty of reasons to fear the film. Here they are.
1.) Garfield, boys and girls, is a cartoon. Cartoons allow suspension of disbelief. A cat who is actually round, a man who can stick bananas in his ears, being able to fit 200 sardines in your mouth, et cetera.
But it's a live action film. Oh dear.
As far as I can tell, Jon, who is supposed to be Big Brother in ink, is being played by either the Spiderman guy, or the lead guy from one of the millions of "American Pie" clones. I don't know jack shit about mainstream culture. Either way, I bet my nads that he won't come across as "pathetic, cat-abused 30-something batchelor", but "poor unfortunate with a heart of gold, who gets the girl in the end". We're not supposed to sympathise with Jon, we're supposed to laugh as Garfield steals his dinner. God damned Hollywood.
(Footnote: In hindsight, I've no idea what teh last paragraph had to do with the fact it's live action, but its still very, very true.)
1a.) As a tangent on this, Garfield himself is the only character who is CGI. It didn't work for Scooby Doo, I'm dubious it'll work for our favourite fatty feline.
This is offset, however, by the fact that the CGI Garfield is actually quite good, unlike the perpetually-hungry hound. But it does make Odie look a bit, well, normal, Since instead of a dog with a gigantic neck, they used a beagle. Ho hum.
2.) I mentioned Hollywood, right? You know what Hollywood are after? Bling bling, foshizzle. Artistic integrity goes out the window for the sake of shininess there. I know, I've been. The Whisky-a-go-go, anyone? You need to sell tickets before your band can actually play there.
What am I on about? The point is, once Hollywood touches it, the point goes out the window.
Garfield uses Odie, the dog with the mindset of Little Brother, as a beating post. He is out to beat six shades of shit out of the dog. And what I gather from the plot summery, Odie gets kidnapped and, I quote, "insert quote here, numbnuts!" Yeah, good one.
Plus, I can tell from here that Jon is going to get off with Liz the vet. In 25 years, all he's got from her is one kiss ("Human love, its so glandular" commented Garfield), but now, because some LA fatcat has got a slice of the pie, Jon will impress Liz somehow, and they'll get married and live happily ever after.
Have I ever said that I hate all of mankind?
3.) More of a general point, but how does Garfield actually comminucate with anyone?
The film neatly sorts this out by making Garfield a fully paid-up talking cat. While this is quite fine for a Hollywood audience, it doesn't stand very well with people like me who actually give a damn about this sort of thing.
See, Garfield seems to talk to his adoring fanbase by thinking, and this has been used several times in gags involving telephones, and the immortal line "Wonder why cat's don't talk? If we did, no one would like us!". However, more often than not, Garfield says things and Jon understands. In my Vulan-esque mindset, this is illogical. Unless Jon is really a telepathic kitty mind-reader!
See how worked up I can get over points that don't matter? Phear me when the points do...
4.) The preview video crashed my computer the first time I tried to look at it. This isn't really a point against the film, but I don't like it.
Apparently, its coming out on June 11th, but since I didn't hear about it at all until Little Brother started looking at the Garfield website, I doubt it'll be out here so soon. And seriously, I've got enough net/film/general nerd friends to find out about stuff like this well in advance.
Needless to say, when it comes out, I shall see it, and hopefully find it defies my expectations. Obviously, I've now created a paradox. Woop de doo.
Short update, really. So to close, a poem I found the other day.
Love Poem, by Harry Munn
Her eyes were bright
as she reached out
and touched me with her
smooth, white hand.
I trembled,
excitedly;
as she happened
to be clutching
a live electric cable,
at the time.
Thursday, June 3
Keen As Mustard
Like many old-school gamers, I used to play Commander Keen. Or, at least, the shareware version of the fourth game. I was playing that game back when I had never even considered that men and women had different genitals, when "It On The Yellow Lines" was considered the height of tacitcal gaming at playtime, before the absurdity of the Intenet, laptops, or Windows 95. How times have changed...
Right, lets get the less retro-game inclined of you up to speed. Commander Keen blah blah blah ten year old boy blah blah blah superhero/inventor blah blah blah spaceship made out of a vaccum cleaner and a toaster blah blah blah fighting aliens blah blah blah blah blah. Yeah, mofos!
Recently, Big Brother found the diskette (how I hate...) with the fourth game on it. Having access to technology greater than "CD-ROMs > You!", I went onto KaAzA, and downloaded six of the seven games that exist. And while many people were perplexed by throwing balls at vegetables and turning them into flowers (shades of Pokemon, on reflection), there's nothing more fun than playing a game older than Little Brother, yet far cooler.
Obviously, since they're a string of mid-90's platformers, they're going to have a cavalcade of absurd monsters to shoot. So, for the sake of an update, I'm going to lambast them, at the expense of my chyldhood self. I don't mind - I was a prat when I was eight. And twelve. And sixteen...
Ah, the typical "pathetic, multitudinous enemy". Obviously, its a slug. But NO! It's a Poision Slug! Which means that you can die simply by touching it. Of course, in Commander Keen's universe, "dying" means either "bouncing off the screen with your legs spread like a shilling whore" or "bouncing off the screen clutching your balls". It must be the amazing Alien Bollock Poision.
Plus, these guys occasionly left puddles of "poision". Every time they stopped to leave one, they looked as if they were trying to pass a grand piano out the back door. Take that as you will.
Hmm, a small spider. Correction, a small flying spider! That mean it also has the Touch of Bouncy Death! If we had that problem with spiders in our world, my bedroom would be a deathzone.
For some reason, these little gits were immune to Keen's gun (apparently a "Neural Stunner", in practise a "goo gun that makes sars orbit the targets head"), but were quite vunerable to being flattened by Keen's pogo stick. Because obviously, being a spider, it has to be flattened. Someone's graduated the Big Brother School of Xenophobia here...
Ooh, scary invisible man! These silly energy-based jelly men are the evil minds behind the later two games. Bloody hell, I only took one day to complete the game, and I became spectacularly hateful towards anything energy based. Of course, they look like they're made of water, and it must be poisionus water, as its the Touch of Deah again....
Ah, the Dopefish. Nothing elaborate in game terms: its a big fish that tries to eat you. However, there are so many fansites dedicated to the big dumb bastards. I also found several references to games where he'd been slipped in as an in-joke. A poster in Kingpin, for example. At least when he eats you, it makes sense that you die, as you don't bounce off of the screen
And finally...
What? Did they actually run out of ideas by Keen 6? Is there actually a blob of floating slime as an enemy? Honestly, there are a thousand stupid enemies they could have come up with. Here are a few I've just thought of.
-Vicious monster with tentacles.
-Hairy beast with a long tounge.
-A tanning booth.
-A giant flying hammer.
-A monster MADE OF CHEESE.
-My testicles.
See? I just made them up on the spot, and they're better than A Giant Floating Amoeba. Honestly, how long did they have to program this game?
Yes, its a bit short, but I need the weekend to recover from my assorted hardships (life suxx!!!!11, you know?) so I can get fresh and shiny material down. Or write bollox about Henry Skull. That's cool too.
My guest updators are very lazy, unless they're called SuperMarct, who is not very lazy! If anyone has a suitable pile of twaddle for me, send it to livingdeadboy2(at)hotmail.com willya? I'm expecting a rant on Vauxhalls from Skorp, a SikTh album review from Tiny1's boyfriend, and something from JohnnyNapalm. You all owe me, folks!
Right, lets get the less retro-game inclined of you up to speed. Commander Keen blah blah blah ten year old boy blah blah blah superhero/inventor blah blah blah spaceship made out of a vaccum cleaner and a toaster blah blah blah fighting aliens blah blah blah blah blah. Yeah, mofos!
Recently, Big Brother found the diskette (how I hate...) with the fourth game on it. Having access to technology greater than "CD-ROMs > You!", I went onto KaAzA, and downloaded six of the seven games that exist. And while many people were perplexed by throwing balls at vegetables and turning them into flowers (shades of Pokemon, on reflection), there's nothing more fun than playing a game older than Little Brother, yet far cooler.
Obviously, since they're a string of mid-90's platformers, they're going to have a cavalcade of absurd monsters to shoot. So, for the sake of an update, I'm going to lambast them, at the expense of my chyldhood self. I don't mind - I was a prat when I was eight. And twelve. And sixteen...
Ah, the typical "pathetic, multitudinous enemy". Obviously, its a slug. But NO! It's a Poision Slug! Which means that you can die simply by touching it. Of course, in Commander Keen's universe, "dying" means either "bouncing off the screen with your legs spread like a shilling whore" or "bouncing off the screen clutching your balls". It must be the amazing Alien Bollock Poision.
Plus, these guys occasionly left puddles of "poision". Every time they stopped to leave one, they looked as if they were trying to pass a grand piano out the back door. Take that as you will.
Hmm, a small spider. Correction, a small flying spider! That mean it also has the Touch of Bouncy Death! If we had that problem with spiders in our world, my bedroom would be a deathzone.
For some reason, these little gits were immune to Keen's gun (apparently a "Neural Stunner", in practise a "goo gun that makes sars orbit the targets head"), but were quite vunerable to being flattened by Keen's pogo stick. Because obviously, being a spider, it has to be flattened. Someone's graduated the Big Brother School of Xenophobia here...
Ooh, scary invisible man! These silly energy-based jelly men are the evil minds behind the later two games. Bloody hell, I only took one day to complete the game, and I became spectacularly hateful towards anything energy based. Of course, they look like they're made of water, and it must be poisionus water, as its the Touch of Deah again....
Ah, the Dopefish. Nothing elaborate in game terms: its a big fish that tries to eat you. However, there are so many fansites dedicated to the big dumb bastards. I also found several references to games where he'd been slipped in as an in-joke. A poster in Kingpin, for example. At least when he eats you, it makes sense that you die, as you don't bounce off of the screen
And finally...
What? Did they actually run out of ideas by Keen 6? Is there actually a blob of floating slime as an enemy? Honestly, there are a thousand stupid enemies they could have come up with. Here are a few I've just thought of.
-Vicious monster with tentacles.
-Hairy beast with a long tounge.
-A tanning booth.
-A giant flying hammer.
-A monster MADE OF CHEESE.
-My testicles.
See? I just made them up on the spot, and they're better than A Giant Floating Amoeba. Honestly, how long did they have to program this game?
Yes, its a bit short, but I need the weekend to recover from my assorted hardships (life suxx!!!!11, you know?) so I can get fresh and shiny material down. Or write bollox about Henry Skull. That's cool too.
My guest updators are very lazy, unless they're called SuperMarct, who is not very lazy! If anyone has a suitable pile of twaddle for me, send it to livingdeadboy2(at)hotmail.com willya? I'm expecting a rant on Vauxhalls from Skorp, a SikTh album review from Tiny1's boyfriend, and something from JohnnyNapalm. You all owe me, folks!
Wednesday, June 2
Fully Rantomatic
Rights, boys (all 20-odd of you) and girls (all 4 of you), its time to stop being funny and go into Hateful Ranting Mode. Since I am your average teen, it has to be about my parents. Yes, cliche my ass. STFU, as they say in illiterate circles.
Last Saturday, I was doing my usual Recovering From Work routine (although I wasn't at work today, but paintballing uses just as much energy as carrying huge boxes of milk around). This involves bombing my way through assored forums, blogs and webcomics, and my fingers in the pies of each. And babbling away to people on MSN.
At one point, I was even engaged in the process of talking to someone on my amazingly shitty mobile phone. Very importent someone, in fact. Twas K80 bouncing back feedback about Fridays update, but that's only relevant for establishing how much more importent this phone call was than anything else in the world right then.
So what do you do when your mother misinterprets a sympathetic "indeed" aimed at your not-actually-hairy lover in Chesham as a random "indeed" at her? When you're trying to listen to importent phone missives, you can't really put aside the phone, and bellow "Fuck Right Off NOW", or even a less rude permutation? Nope, I have to use a waving arm indicating "Fuck Right Off". Doubly so, considering that it takes five minutes of attempted flight for ones mother to get the point.
At this point, the Mother has been removed, but you've completly missed what the person on the other end of the phone has said. Great.
Long after phones have gone down, forums have been posted upon, and everyone giving a sympathetic ear on MSN has run off to babysit, its time to go upstairs and listen to Slipknot. But no, the Mother seemingly hasn't finished yet.
"That was very rude"
So is trying to talk to someone obviously on the phone.
"I couldn't tell you were on the phone!"
Oh please. Then she blamed the hair. Small ecosystems apparently live in said barnet quite comftably, but its not hard to see an arm holding a phone to an ear.
"At any rate, you could have put down the phone, and told me to go away."
Right, so I've got to pause my very importent phone call, to tell you to get out of my face because you're too stupid to tell when I'm on the phone?
"What was so importent, anyway?"
I gave up at this point, and skulked in the direction of my room.
As I depart the lounge, Father arrives. "Was that an apology?" he asks, as I leave.
What am I supposed to be apologising for? Not having the time, patience, or energy, to vocalise what can be comftably implied by waving arms?
Jesus Christ, I live with these people. And I don't like it.
And back to Big Brother baiting. Every item of fashion he owns, he has copied from me. Band logo T-shirts, hoodies, baggy denim, elaborate hair styles, studded leather gloves, wrist bands.
The other week, I realised that it was so not beanie weather. But at some points, it might be. So, with such untamable hair as mine, I resolved to plagurise an idea from gangsta style (no hate mail, you all suck), and have a bandanna tied from a loop on my belt. Easy accses, and not too bad looking.
Two days later, Big Brother has a bandanna tied from a belt loop.
And he genuinly wondered why I layed into him like a sheep into a paedophile.
That's another tangent I can wander onto; paedophilia in the media. OK, so your average paedophile is not really something to laud, I have two points to make.
1.) They are also human. Quite fairly, you can argue they are less than human, for what they do, But in fact, its probably the same sort of thing fetishists suffer from. The Turn-On Sensors of the brain aren't fired by "horny naked women with legs open", they'r set off by "being tied up, with nipple clamps" or "small children".
What we need to do is to re-educate them, not...
2.) The Media Circus. The tabloids have scoured the topic so far, its resulted in vigilante mobs. Hence, gangs of minless smacktards.
Don't believe me? One such gang attacked a paediatrician. A doctor, because his title sounded like paedophile.
I deplore my species. We're all useless husks of flesh, who claim dominance of the world by virtue of that we're slightly less stupid than dolphins, and feel we have full rein of the worlds destruction. We all deserve to die.
Yes, this did turn into "life suxx!!!!11", but these are dark times, and really, I've got a whole lot more darkess to vent...
Footnotes: Most of that was written on Saturday evening, and I was majorly pissed off. I'm majorly pissed off now, for different reasons, so up it goes.
New links today. My CD list and an advert. I'm getting a free sticker for the benefit of that ad, leave me alone.
Last Saturday, I was doing my usual Recovering From Work routine (although I wasn't at work today, but paintballing uses just as much energy as carrying huge boxes of milk around). This involves bombing my way through assored forums, blogs and webcomics, and my fingers in the pies of each. And babbling away to people on MSN.
At one point, I was even engaged in the process of talking to someone on my amazingly shitty mobile phone. Very importent someone, in fact. Twas K80 bouncing back feedback about Fridays update, but that's only relevant for establishing how much more importent this phone call was than anything else in the world right then.
So what do you do when your mother misinterprets a sympathetic "indeed" aimed at your not-actually-hairy lover in Chesham as a random "indeed" at her? When you're trying to listen to importent phone missives, you can't really put aside the phone, and bellow "Fuck Right Off NOW", or even a less rude permutation? Nope, I have to use a waving arm indicating "Fuck Right Off". Doubly so, considering that it takes five minutes of attempted flight for ones mother to get the point.
At this point, the Mother has been removed, but you've completly missed what the person on the other end of the phone has said. Great.
Long after phones have gone down, forums have been posted upon, and everyone giving a sympathetic ear on MSN has run off to babysit, its time to go upstairs and listen to Slipknot. But no, the Mother seemingly hasn't finished yet.
"That was very rude"
So is trying to talk to someone obviously on the phone.
"I couldn't tell you were on the phone!"
Oh please. Then she blamed the hair. Small ecosystems apparently live in said barnet quite comftably, but its not hard to see an arm holding a phone to an ear.
"At any rate, you could have put down the phone, and told me to go away."
Right, so I've got to pause my very importent phone call, to tell you to get out of my face because you're too stupid to tell when I'm on the phone?
"What was so importent, anyway?"
I gave up at this point, and skulked in the direction of my room.
As I depart the lounge, Father arrives. "Was that an apology?" he asks, as I leave.
What am I supposed to be apologising for? Not having the time, patience, or energy, to vocalise what can be comftably implied by waving arms?
Jesus Christ, I live with these people. And I don't like it.
And back to Big Brother baiting. Every item of fashion he owns, he has copied from me. Band logo T-shirts, hoodies, baggy denim, elaborate hair styles, studded leather gloves, wrist bands.
The other week, I realised that it was so not beanie weather. But at some points, it might be. So, with such untamable hair as mine, I resolved to plagurise an idea from gangsta style (no hate mail, you all suck), and have a bandanna tied from a loop on my belt. Easy accses, and not too bad looking.
Two days later, Big Brother has a bandanna tied from a belt loop.
And he genuinly wondered why I layed into him like a sheep into a paedophile.
That's another tangent I can wander onto; paedophilia in the media. OK, so your average paedophile is not really something to laud, I have two points to make.
1.) They are also human. Quite fairly, you can argue they are less than human, for what they do, But in fact, its probably the same sort of thing fetishists suffer from. The Turn-On Sensors of the brain aren't fired by "horny naked women with legs open", they'r set off by "being tied up, with nipple clamps" or "small children".
What we need to do is to re-educate them, not...
2.) The Media Circus. The tabloids have scoured the topic so far, its resulted in vigilante mobs. Hence, gangs of minless smacktards.
Don't believe me? One such gang attacked a paediatrician. A doctor, because his title sounded like paedophile.
I deplore my species. We're all useless husks of flesh, who claim dominance of the world by virtue of that we're slightly less stupid than dolphins, and feel we have full rein of the worlds destruction. We all deserve to die.
Yes, this did turn into "life suxx!!!!11", but these are dark times, and really, I've got a whole lot more darkess to vent...
Footnotes: Most of that was written on Saturday evening, and I was majorly pissed off. I'm majorly pissed off now, for different reasons, so up it goes.
New links today. My CD list and an advert. I'm getting a free sticker for the benefit of that ad, leave me alone.
Tuesday, June 1
To Tie The Knot
It's sad. I wasted the 30th entry into this barmy beast on a disclaimer for a nutter. Ah well, never mind. I never got to finish my Slipknot theme week the other week. Which is as good enough a reason as any to do an update on them as "31st Post Spectacular" would be.
As any Media Studies student will tell you, conventions are the typical things that occur in media products, like tits in tabloids, suits on the news, and no intelligence in anything George Bush says or does. For now, we're going to talk about the conventions of Slipknot albums. It doesn't help that the new album seems to have been made specifically to break these...
Weird Electronic Intro
Convention: Each Slipknot album will start with a short intro, with wierd electronic noises, and Corey's vocals looped in some odd form.
Slipknot: "742617000027" Score: Yep. Odd trebly feeback, with Corey going "The whole thing I think is sick." And not, as I originally thought, "I hope the rabbit can spit."
Iowa: "[515]" Score: Yep. Odd bass/guitar feedback, sounding for all the world like a tractor, with Corey screaming.
The Subliminal Verses: "Prelude 3.0" Score: Sort of. It's more of a full song than a short intro. Odd vocals, yes, but not looped. No trippy feedback, but properly-played instruments. And not under a minute, but just under four.
Bastard Heavy Second Track
Convention: After said intro, one of the heaviest tracks will come out and pop ear drums.
Slipknot: "(Sic)" Score: Yep. This song was originally called "Slipknot". Work it out for yourself.
Iowa: "People=Shit" Score: Yep. Its comparing humankind to its own waste. I agree. Work it all out for yourself.
TSV: "The Blister Exists" Score: Yep. The solo vocals are "I Am The Damaged One!" Work it out for yourself.
Lead Single
Convention: There will be a single. And it will be very good.
Slipknot: "Wait And Bleed" Score: Just. It was indeed the first single, and quite good in its edited version. But it wasn't the best song on the album by miles.
Iowa: "Left Behind" Score: Yep. Have you seen the video? Its the band prancing around in the woods, with a goat, in the rain. While a small child works at a butchers and eats muddy cereal. Hard. Core. I. Think.
TSV: "Duality" Score: Yes, in an odd but VERY good way. It introduces us to vocal melody. Some of us knew Corey had that. And some morons still won't believe it. Smacktards. Best song ever, methinx.
Prominant Tracks
Convention: There will be other tracks that either rock like an avalanche in the Himalayas, or are just... interesing.
Slipknot: "Spit It Out" is some peoples favourite song, and one I like a lot. Its the closest Corey comes to rapping on any album. Not about his "biatches" like most C-rap, but about hating radio stations. "Eyeless" features drum 'n bass loops, and features Corey screaming, rapping, and even blithering through how he never knew his father. Quality.
Iowa: "My Plague" is only being mentioned, because the single version is even worse than the album version. And is only elaborated on because said crap track appeared on the "Resident Evil" sountrack. "The Heretic Anthem" is just fast-paced Satanistic silliness.
TSV: "Pulse of the Maggots" actually namechecks the fanbase, and tells us "What have you got to lose, except your soul?" Listen, people! "Circle", by contrast, is an acoustic track. It's good, but bloody hell, its like Brittany Spears doing a grindcore album.
"Love" Songs
Convention: There will be a track on each album perverting the idea of love, as only nine masked Iowans can.
Slipknot: "Purity" Score: Hmm. This had to be shoe-horned in really. It was take from later copies of the album because of copywrite laws. It's based on the story of a girl who was buried alive. Ooh, lovely.
Iowa: "Everything Ends" Score: Yep. It's one of my favourie "break up" songs, alongside Raging Speedhorns "Heartbreaker", in that it's exactly the hateful garbage you'd like to be screaming at your previous nearest-and-dearest yourself.
TSV: "Vermillion pts 1+2" Score: Well... yes. They're two songs, part two being an acoustic version of part one. The first part is more of an angsty snarl, but both versions are mellow points in the sea of anger, also tempered by melody. Mellowness indeed. What happened to the "I want to slit your throat and fuck the wound!" of the last album?
Long and Drawn-Out Outro
Convention: The last track will be a long and drawn out outro. It will be cool.
Slipknot: "Scissors" Score: Yep. It laid down the blueprint for the convention. If only being eight minutes long.
Iowa: "Iowa" Score: Yep. This song built on that. Fifteen minutes and even more drawn out. At this rate, album three should have been half an hour long, and not even touched a regular instrument for seven odd minutes...
TSV: None! There was no long and drawn out outro! I am disappointed! We have "The Virus of Life", which is like Scissors, only shorter and faster, and "Danger - Keep Away", which is yet another acoustic track, but no mega long outro. Boo hoo. To be quite honest, they could just have used "Vermillion pt. 2" as an outro, and that would have worked quite well.
Well, that was a steaming pile of steam. Let's be honest, it was either that, or my angsty rant about mothers, brothers and paedophiles...
As any Media Studies student will tell you, conventions are the typical things that occur in media products, like tits in tabloids, suits on the news, and no intelligence in anything George Bush says or does. For now, we're going to talk about the conventions of Slipknot albums. It doesn't help that the new album seems to have been made specifically to break these...
Weird Electronic Intro
Convention: Each Slipknot album will start with a short intro, with wierd electronic noises, and Corey's vocals looped in some odd form.
Slipknot: "742617000027" Score: Yep. Odd trebly feeback, with Corey going "The whole thing I think is sick." And not, as I originally thought, "I hope the rabbit can spit."
Iowa: "[515]" Score: Yep. Odd bass/guitar feedback, sounding for all the world like a tractor, with Corey screaming.
The Subliminal Verses: "Prelude 3.0" Score: Sort of. It's more of a full song than a short intro. Odd vocals, yes, but not looped. No trippy feedback, but properly-played instruments. And not under a minute, but just under four.
Bastard Heavy Second Track
Convention: After said intro, one of the heaviest tracks will come out and pop ear drums.
Slipknot: "(Sic)" Score: Yep. This song was originally called "Slipknot". Work it out for yourself.
Iowa: "People=Shit" Score: Yep. Its comparing humankind to its own waste. I agree. Work it all out for yourself.
TSV: "The Blister Exists" Score: Yep. The solo vocals are "I Am The Damaged One!" Work it out for yourself.
Lead Single
Convention: There will be a single. And it will be very good.
Slipknot: "Wait And Bleed" Score: Just. It was indeed the first single, and quite good in its edited version. But it wasn't the best song on the album by miles.
Iowa: "Left Behind" Score: Yep. Have you seen the video? Its the band prancing around in the woods, with a goat, in the rain. While a small child works at a butchers and eats muddy cereal. Hard. Core. I. Think.
TSV: "Duality" Score: Yes, in an odd but VERY good way. It introduces us to vocal melody. Some of us knew Corey had that. And some morons still won't believe it. Smacktards. Best song ever, methinx.
Prominant Tracks
Convention: There will be other tracks that either rock like an avalanche in the Himalayas, or are just... interesing.
Slipknot: "Spit It Out" is some peoples favourite song, and one I like a lot. Its the closest Corey comes to rapping on any album. Not about his "biatches" like most C-rap, but about hating radio stations. "Eyeless" features drum 'n bass loops, and features Corey screaming, rapping, and even blithering through how he never knew his father. Quality.
Iowa: "My Plague" is only being mentioned, because the single version is even worse than the album version. And is only elaborated on because said crap track appeared on the "Resident Evil" sountrack. "The Heretic Anthem" is just fast-paced Satanistic silliness.
TSV: "Pulse of the Maggots" actually namechecks the fanbase, and tells us "What have you got to lose, except your soul?" Listen, people! "Circle", by contrast, is an acoustic track. It's good, but bloody hell, its like Brittany Spears doing a grindcore album.
"Love" Songs
Convention: There will be a track on each album perverting the idea of love, as only nine masked Iowans can.
Slipknot: "Purity" Score: Hmm. This had to be shoe-horned in really. It was take from later copies of the album because of copywrite laws. It's based on the story of a girl who was buried alive. Ooh, lovely.
Iowa: "Everything Ends" Score: Yep. It's one of my favourie "break up" songs, alongside Raging Speedhorns "Heartbreaker", in that it's exactly the hateful garbage you'd like to be screaming at your previous nearest-and-dearest yourself.
TSV: "Vermillion pts 1+2" Score: Well... yes. They're two songs, part two being an acoustic version of part one. The first part is more of an angsty snarl, but both versions are mellow points in the sea of anger, also tempered by melody. Mellowness indeed. What happened to the "I want to slit your throat and fuck the wound!" of the last album?
Long and Drawn-Out Outro
Convention: The last track will be a long and drawn out outro. It will be cool.
Slipknot: "Scissors" Score: Yep. It laid down the blueprint for the convention. If only being eight minutes long.
Iowa: "Iowa" Score: Yep. This song built on that. Fifteen minutes and even more drawn out. At this rate, album three should have been half an hour long, and not even touched a regular instrument for seven odd minutes...
TSV: None! There was no long and drawn out outro! I am disappointed! We have "The Virus of Life", which is like Scissors, only shorter and faster, and "Danger - Keep Away", which is yet another acoustic track, but no mega long outro. Boo hoo. To be quite honest, they could just have used "Vermillion pt. 2" as an outro, and that would have worked quite well.
Well, that was a steaming pile of steam. Let's be honest, it was either that, or my angsty rant about mothers, brothers and paedophiles...
