Misery loves Company

One thing that annoys me more than Piers Morgan is watching idiots argue about topics they have absolutely no knowledge of.

The sweeping statement of saying “The human eye cannot distinguish anything above 23.01 fps” is utter. UTTER. COCK.

For a start, your mark 1 human eyeball, get this doesn’t see in frames per second. It doesn’t see in frames at fucking all, that’s one of the modern wonders of light, and the speed of it, it’s fucking awesome. Your brain doesn’t sit there and do a vertical scan sync and say “oh, I’m just working out a complicated mathematics sum so I’m going to use my CPU time on that and drop my eyeball to information ratio down to 50% so you’ll only be seeing at 15 fps for next couple of seconds”

You fucking dimwit. By saying “there is no difference between 30fps and 60fps” – you are categorically, a) wrong, and b) fucking wrong. That’s like saying “Hey!, Nvidia, you’re wasting your time and billions and billions of pounds making your video cards go above anything around 25fps because the human eye cannot tell the difference”

Unfortunately, what you’re actually trying to spout out as complete fact is that TELEVISION runs at 25fps (or there abouts) and when you look at TELEVISION the difference between 25fps and 30fps is almost indistinguishable, because it fucking well is. Can we guess why kiddies? Because spotting a 16% ish frame rate difference is a lot mother fucking harder than spotting a 100% frame rate difference.

Computer games, and anything to do with monitors, have a higher REFRESH RATE, which means they are capable of displaying images ABOVE 25fps… WHICH AMAZINGLY THE HUMAN EYE CAN SEE.

It’s been studied that certain fighter pilots can distinguish up to 1/200th of a second, I imagine that formula one drivers, and some fucking computer gamers, can probably see the difference between 60fps and 120fps. (In fact, I’d lay my nuts on the line and say I could do it easily)

Please, never, ever, ever, EVER, say there is no difference between 30fps and 60fps again, because you are fucking wrong.

I’ve never been much of a fan of the Resident Evil side of things really, I mean, I’ve played all the games through, (even the obscure GameCube ones) and I endured the first couple on the original Playstation, and it’s been an interesting-ish sort of ride. I say I’m not really a fan because I’m not a big fan of the distinctly japanese-fanboyism-ness of the game, it’s like the Metal Gear Solid games, I’m just not into them, there’s a sterility that just doesn’t sit right with me. I’ll put my finger on it one day. However, I am “interested” in ressie.

It’s interesting, for instance, how the controls have changed so dramatically from a very confusing fixed camera perspective into the code:veronica version, into Ressie 4, (which was still, ultimately, flawed) but now, all of a sudden, people whinge about RE5’s controls like its some sort of shock to the system? Hang on, Resident Evil games have always had shit controls.

Unfortunately, what people don’t quite get is that the controls sort of have to be a little bit shit because of the type of game it is. For instance, in all the ressie games, you’ll notice that the backwards step is slower than the forwards step. This is so that when a zombie is maurading towards your ass, you can’t get away by simply backpeddling. You’ll be caught eventually, however, you can quick turn and run, except if you do this, you can’t fire. It’s a dilemma that the designers obviously want the player to encounter over and over again. It instills the panic and fear that is the objective of the game.

Ressie is not gears of war, it is not supposed to be Left 4 Dead – you’re not supposed to be the ultimate gun platform using cover as a mechanic to advance inevitably forwards. This game is about close quarters panic gameplay. Every design change away from this ethos is a design step away from making a Resident Evil game.

People harp on about dead space being an infinitely better demonstration of controls, and for the most part they are right, I agree. I’m sure the guys at Capcom could have whole sale cut and paste their control mechanics if they liked.. However, again, there’s another side to the puzzle.

Co-op – if you give the player the ultimate tools to breeze through the game with no real challenge, now imagine that challenge with a secondary player who is equally adept. The game will be a walk over. By intentionally putting in these control flaws. (like the “dying state” and the grapple that is almost impossible to win), you give the secondary player something to work for. (mainly to run over and press “B” to save their partner) – this creates two more things as an outcome.

Teamwork, and togetherness. Vital in a Co-op game.

Now, I’m not saying that RE5’s perfect in any way, I’m merely saying that the decisions the team have made obviously aren’t all that clear cut.

My biggest problem with the new Ressie though is down to it’s co-op nature, and it’s inventory system. Without question, the worst inventory system I’ve ever seen in a game. Aside from the oblivion-esque quick d-pad selection (which doesn’t do diagnals) – the 9 slot inventory system is fundamentally shit. There is no defence for it, it is simply shit.

My example is this. You’re constantly fighting for ammo throughout the game, on difficult, you can easily put a clip of 30 bullets into a group of three or four zombies without even blinking. So you’re always on the look out for ammo, and health, because one hit from a baddie can take you out.

But you can’t pick up ammo because you have more than four guns. Because you can’t BUY ammo, you carry all the guns you can because you want to keep as many bullets as possible, so you have no available slots. And then, you have a pistol for example, (or a handgun) and then “handgun ammo” – so if your pistol has no bullets in it, and you have no available slots, because you are carrying 5 guns and 3 types of ammo and 1 herb, it says “full” – even though your handgun has a capacity of +10 and the ammo you’re picking up is +5 handgun bullets. So it could just load it into the gun instead of insisting it goes into an empty slot.

“Ah Chris, but you’ve not thought this through – that would provide an exploit where the player wouldn’t have to reload when picking up ammo” – I hear you cry. Well how about making it so the next time you switch to that gun, the character reloads. (As that’s what they have to do anyway)

And then there’s the red and green herb thing. Again, two separate entities that have to be mixed together to make a super potion that cures all, Except you can’t pick up the red one because you’re full, so you end up chucking about grenades because you want to create an empty slot, just so you can pick up the red-herb and mix it with the green, meaning you could have kept that grenade.

Or how about this craazy bastard idea. How about letting me BUY fucking ammo in the load-out screen. Make it extremely hideously expensive, or make it so you can only refill your guns – and not buy extra.

Unlike resident 4, you don’t pause the game when you go to the equipment screen. (which is fine, it’s co-op after all) – but there’s no real reason for this in single player? – how about having a real-time none-pausing inventory system when you’re playing in co-op, it’d be fine. The chaos caused in trying to get your sniper rifle out of your backpack whilst zombies are coming might actually be good.

As it stands, you’re expected to predict into the future what’s coming and know if you’ll need your shotgun over your sniper rifle. Press Ready, wait a second and then see you’re in a canyon with a shotgun realising you stand the chance of dick.

Watch as the game then insists in giving you nothing but rifle ammo for the next twelve hours.

RE5 is brilliant, but it’s really a love hate game, its kind of like that relationship you had when you were 15 and find out that really she was an SS officer all along.

I remember the time when I liked Beyoncé Knowles. No, seriously, I remember the time, it was exactly October 7th 2008. And then, in an instant it was like I heard a million voices cry out and then suddenly silence I’d attended Hitlers Reichstag speech. When I heard “If I was a boy”.

If I wasn’t driving, I’m sure I’d have instantly turned green, muscles popping everywhere whilst my clothes ripped, and left me with a respectable pair of purple shorts. But alas I was driving, and had to sit through Beyoncé FUCKING Knowles telling me how all men are wank.

Tar – Brush, Here go on, fuckin may as well.

If you’re fucking lucky and don’t live in a world where the fucking Radio play the same three songs all day every day, then you may not have heard it, So here are the songs lyrics. Which I enjoy breaking the copyright of.

If I were a boy
Even just for a day
I’d roll outta bed in the morning
And throw on what I wanted then go
Drink beer with the guys
And chase after girls
I’d kick it with who I wanted
And I’d never get confronted for it.
Cause they’d stick up for me.

[Chorus]
If I were a boy
I think I could understand
How it feels to love a girl
I swear I’d be a better man.
I’d listen to her
Cause I know how it hurts
When you lose the one you wanted
Cause he’s taken you for granted
And everything you had got destroyed

If I were a boy
I could turn off my phone
Tell everyone it’s broken
So they’d think that I was sleepin’ alone
I’d put myself first
And make the rules as I go
Cause I know that she’d be faithful
Waitin’ for me to come home (to come home)

(Chorus)

It’s a little too late for you to come back
Say its just a mistake
Think I’d forgive you like that
If you thought I would wait for you
You thought wrong

(Chorus)

But you’re just a boy
You don’t understand
Yeah you don’t understand
How it feels to love a girl someday
You wish you were a better man
You don’t listen to her
You don’t care how it hurts
Until you lose the one you wanted
Cause you’ve taken her for granted
And everything you have got destroyed
But you’re just a boy.

You know what word in that entire fucking tirade pisses me off the most?

“Just” – Just a boy? You fucking condescending bitch. I’m not JUST anything.

And anyway, that’s not my major beef with Beyoncé, no, I can transcend shitty song lyrics, but what I can’t condone is the following: (Little bit of background information beforehand)

For many years now, psychologists have been studying the differences between men and women, like how men are tunnel visioned because when they were cavemen they used this to “focus” on their prey, or how women cannot sleep if a baby is crying because of their instincts, or men having a lower pain threshold because a) they don’t give birth, and b) they need pain sensors to help them realise they are injured (and therefore vulnerable)

So shrinks have been researching the differences between men and women for hundreds upon hundreds of years, and unfortunately, what they don’t have is a control subject. Sure you can be a transvestite, but that is basically “pretending” to be a woman or a man when you’re not, if a man becomes a woman, his vision doesn’t suddenly become wide-angle. His pain threshold doesn’t double.

It’s simply not possible to know for certain that, for example, women see the colour blue as something else entirely.

If Beyoncé WAS one day to wake up as a man, and didn’t commit herself to scientific research to answer all these unsolved mysteries, then basically she’s a self-centered bitch.

Case ends.

So I’ve re-wrote her lyrics for her so that it better reflects what she should have done with this amazing gift.

If I were a boy,
even just for one day,
I’d wake up in the morning and say
“holy fuck me, I hope I’m not gay”

I’d get in the showerrr….
I’d wank myself offffff….
I’d put up with girls….
because I know how they moan
I’d learn to play darts,
I’d laugh and share farts,

I’d go and see a doctor,
and they’d stick it up me,
cause I’m a freak of naturrrreeee..

[Courus]
If I were a boy
I’d donate myself to scienceeee,
Because I was once a girl
and now I’d swear I was a man,
They’d take out my brain
Cause they know how it hurts
when women fucking nag like twats
LIKE TWATSSSSS!

If someone would like to sing these lyrics on YouTube and generate a million hits, that’d be fine.

Thanks for listening chillllll-dren!

P.s. Valentines day isn’t just for girls, if it was, we’d have Steak and Blowjob day as recompense

I just realised..

I feel sorry for electric devices flashing their happy red ‘I’ve completed my task!’ bulb before I go to bed and I don’t show any great enthusiasim.

I’ve come to believe all celebrities are pathologically unhinged, mainly because they actually believe they are different to you and I.

I see now that face book should be renamed stalkbook. It’s creepy thinking people I barely know, know exactly what I’m doing – to exact my revenge I secretly check up on them.

I’ve dreamed of being an author for years, like everyone else, I’m just not sure which story to tell, maybe I should just write it all down.

I can have a spark of brilliance so bright that it takes years to fade, but as I try and remember the brilliance, it slowly fades to nothing. And when it’s gone I sadly tell people about it but don’t remember why it’s brilliant.

I start tasks knowing I’ll never finish them, and yet my own job is about assigning people tasks and expecting them finished on time.

My driving is the most irratic thing in my life but I could drive my everyday route blind folded.

I’ve just come to realise PicPic IS the greatest game ever.

Unfortunately, it appears Bob has finally snapped, it was bound to happen. Spending five bloody years making a Nintendo DS game is bound to have a negative impact on anyones brain.

For those who don’t know, Bob is a bedroom coder who’s been working on (admittedly) a fucking awesome looking Nintendo DS homebrew game for 5 years in pretty much solitary confinement. A one man project, it really does look pretty cool, (if you’re into that sort of thing)

He’s now attempting to get recognition from Nintendo to actually publish the game officially, instead of contacting an already established publisher (which I’m sure some will be interested in the project) he’s decided to attempt to contact Nintendo directly.

Unfortunately, Nintendo however have fucking big spam filters for such eventuality. They sadly don’t have internet connections and most likely don’t know what the hell bobs game is. They also don’t really like people using homebrew applications to create a game, because they have no creative control, – and they’re really really big on creative control.

-or-

They know *precisely* what Bob’s game is and know how fucking vast it is. Now, vast to some people sounds joyous, but to games publishers it sounds nasty. Vast means bugs, means play testing, means content.

And the content could be questionable, in such a huge game, what’s to say there isn’t a sister-shagging sub-plot, (like most JRPG’s) or the abilities to run over NPC’s in a taxi. That’s not nintendo’s bag baby, and especially not on the NDS.

Nintendo aren’t going to bug test a game. They expect the publishers to do this, All the big N do is accept projects for a LOT check when you become a registered developer (Which costs lots and lots of cash) – The real pity however is that I have a NDS development kit about 5 meters away from me. Awww..

Anyway, hopefully Bob will come to his senses and realise that ‘insane man’ tactics of 100 day protests and stuff is the realm of forum dickheads and shows a massive lack of professionalism, something that’ll make Nintendo even more resolute not to listen. The best bet is to play the publisher game, accept that they’ll take a cut and then be happy in the knowledge that a one man project for the Nintendo DS will still make a fucking tonne of cash if it’s any good. (If it’s not pirated to fuck that is) – with a finished project, a couple of interested publishers and a stern will and nerves, you can easily negotiate a 30-40% profit share of the game.

What IS “bob’s game?”.

http://hasthelargehadroncolliderdestroyedtheworldyet.com/

Nope. (I hope this has an rss feed)

But I can’t help hoping it does… Just to wipe those smug faces off… well the dolphins mainly…

P.s. I bet I don’t use those tags very often

P.p.s Does anyone else consistently type “Hardon collider”? that must have been a real nightmare to work on..

I know I’ve asked this previously, but is there any adsense banners over there? (Or is it just my PC?)

Answers in the comments would be grand, thanks….

Dear Sir/Madam,

I thought it necessary to write to you to point out how fundamentally useless your website is. Whomever you are paying for technical assistance in making your website, you should immediately fire, as they are currently skiving off work and have, instead of fixing the numerous problems, decided to put the catch-all error of “Our technicians are aware of this problem and are currently looking into it”

With no word of over-exaggeration, this error message has been persistently appearing for me since 2006. Either your technicians are slower than the M1 at 5:30pm or someone has seriously gone amiss.

I find that your website is covered in useful features and handy little areas of info, Unfortunately, I also find that actually clicking on any of these areas or features displays this catch-all error message. This gives me the impression that your website is actually a complete joke. Aimed to purely frustrate the user at every turn.

I also note that the “billing and payments” area of the website works perfectly, which is interesting, because thats the bit that actually makes Orange PLC its money isn’t it? Is it just coincidence that the “upgrade your phone” area does not work? And why would a cynical person such as myself suggest that this “upgrading” of your phone also costs Orange PLC money?

Let us both be honest with each other here, it’s in your interests to keep your customers “contract expiry date” as cloaked as possible isn’t it? You don’t want them knowing an exact day as this would prompt a quick upgrade request. No, much better to give them vague dates whenever asked and say “well, it was 18 months since you last renewed, which could have been 19 months ago before you remembered and decided to phone customer services”

I only wanted to have a look at the new handsets using your website. Unfortunately for both of us, I couldn’t. I’d love to dangle the carrot of claiming “I’m leaving orange the next opportunity I can” but to be frank, I probably won’t because I’m fundamentally lazy. Like your webmaster. We both know I’ll keep paying and that’s probably fine.

Anyway, I just wanted to write this letter to waste someones time, call it revenge for wasting my time whilst using your website. Thanks for reading.

Yours not at all sincerely,

Chris Jones
http://www.screwyouhippy.com

I hate to admit it, but I rarely finish things when I’ve started them. It really does bug me but I get bored quickly and move onto the next “big idea”…

And so, I thought I’d post screenshots of my unfinished projects and a little bit about them to see if anyone anyone? is even the slightest bit interested in me finishing them…

So without further adoo. Here we go. (in order of “most finished”)

Space Rogue

A space game like Nethack – it’s a cool idea, basically 2d Elite with tonnes and tonnes of replayabilty due to it’s open ended nature, with a randomly generated universe every time, I planned multiplayer in a big way as well as other things.
Gave up when I realised probably noone would play it.

Ebonstar remake

A remake of the Amiga classic Ebonstar (which is a remake of another game which eludes my brain at the moment) – This game was going to bring back the co-op glory of Ebonstar to a networked PC near you. Only it didn’t, because the netcode in GameMaker is complicated, and not that good (well, I couldn’t get it to play right) – and I couldn’t do any clever things with the net code to make it predict movements etc… So I gave up.

Pocket War

My newest foray into making a game, based roughly on a Saturn game called Dragon Force, this game has you controlling a miniture Army vs a horde of bad dudes. Currently all you can do is spray down a load of characters and watch them kick off against each other (which is, actually, quite amusing fun) – however, I’m probably going to give up on this one too as I’ve realised my background making talents are shite. (Contributions welcome)

Death Tank remake

Ahh Deathtank, ready for action. How I loved this game on the Sega Saturn, how bloody amazing is it that noone has remade it on PC with LAN capabilities, and everyone still plays worms, even though it’s shit. Gave up on this one when I realised two things, 1- Death tank is genius, and imitating it is amazingly difficult to do. 2- the destructable terrain capabilities of Game Maker aren’t all that great. (Specially given hectic multiplayer action)

Mortville manor remake

Well, to say this is a “remake” is a bit harsh really, it’s just half an altered screenshot. Which I’ve messed with in photoshop for a couple of minutes. As far as my “giving up” goes, this ranks pretty highly – Although I may do this game one day*…

* – probably not

And so there we have it, a sneak peek into my game-making hard drive of doom. One day I’m sure I’ll finish something enough to consider a release, but I seriously fucking doubt it at the moment….

And so the football season comes to a close and all is happy in the world again. The birds, tweeting their way to work this morning reminded me that there is sunshine outside.
My Xbox Red-Ringged of Death (RROD’d for the l33t) last night, preventing me from playing Gta IV – meaning I have to spend more time in beer gardens,

Everything, every single thing I can think of is pointing me towards alcoholism in a beer garden at the moment.

Even England not qualifying for the European 2008 championships is a sure sign that my kidneys are in for some serious vodka-bashing. – You see, I normally watch a few games in the comfort of my own home, when all the silly flag-painted girls of the world have gone home and given up trying to understand what the offside rule is.

For laughs nowadays, I now say things like “You’re offside when you’re in the final third of the pitch without the ball” – it’s funny watching them shout “offside” when someones about to take a penalty or something…

But because England aren’t there, I have no vested interest in the tournament, therefore, I don’t care where I watch it, which means my probability of public house presence is increased during match time between two sparring nations.

And this brings me to my dilemma, – Whom should I support?

Lets eliminate the obvious ones right from the start:-

France I couldn’t possibly support the French because I happen to think they are cunts. I’m yet to find a single example of a person who is French (or even displays French characteristics) that I’ve even remotely liked. They are, and always will be cheese eating surrender monkeys.

Germany – Now, let me be clear about this, I actually like Germans, I really do, I have absolutely nothing against them. However, in the footballing sphere, I hate them approximately 95% as much as the French. It’s the kind of hate that I feel for, oh I dunno, Italy, undeniably they are a great and successful footballing nation, but there’s just something I can’t like about them because they bombed our chippy. It’s true.

Okay, so that’s them out…

Now time for the not so obvious ones I can’t support:-

Romania – In the 1998 world cup, the Romanian team dyed their hair yellow/white because they beat England – Even though it was only in the group stage and meant next to nothing – they still felt it necessary to celebrate in a really cocky manner that should prevent Dan fucking Petrescu from entering this country on fear of stoning to death by white elephant poo. In fact, I’m sorely tempted to find the phone book, find the only Petrescu in there and ring it shouting “CUNT” at volume 11.

Holland – I can’t support Holland either, much though I admire a nation that can be famous for Pornography, drug use and prostitution, I just can’t get myself to forget the Koeman free kick goal – where, yes, he was going to fucking flick one, ALRIGHT, we’ve got it. (R.i.p Brian Moore – thanks for breaking the commentators rules of not predicting something before it happens and getting it right and for all eternity making me dislike the Dutch)

Italy – Again, I have nothing against the Italians, they are a plucky good bunch who I don’t really mind (to be all that honest) – They’ve always been super talented, and have previously been “the team I support” – (especially in World Cup 1994) – however, and this is the but, they are world champions. And therefore, I cannot support them because it would be tantamount to being a glory fan. (For all you Manchester utd fans out there, that means, supporting a team when they are winning, and then slagging them when they aren’t – I’m sure you know about that)

Greece – See above really. Only they are European champions, (and have absolutely bob hope of winning it – not that this particularly bothers me, but hey…)

Sweden – Kind of similar to Romania / Holland – I can’t forgive Thomas Fucking Brolin – and therefore, Cannot support the Swedish. For they are ego-manical cunts who have an awfully high opinion of themselves in football tournaments just because one or two of their fucking players play in Italy.

Turkey – Just can’t support these cunts because they’ve repeatedly stabbed Leeds fans.. Normally, I wouldn’t object, but to not get kicked out of Europe (like we bloody did) is a piss-take, plus they have long hair and I’m only jealous.

Austria – A couple of months ago, Austria would have been fair game, but now, what with the whole “kiddie in a basement” thing – I can’t really support them either. Sure, I appreciate I’m tarring an entire nation on the acts of one, but till I see proof otherwise, I’m from now on going to consider all Austrians Paedos.

Portugal – *sigh* – I’d love to support Portugal, but they have one distinct problem. He’s called Ronaldo, and whilst he is a very good footballer, he’s also the most arrogant prick on the planet – I cannot support such an arrogant prick, throw in the fact he’s a Man United player, and then throw in the fact that he got Rooney sent of (but for some reason everyone forgave him – Oh that’s right, it’s turncoat bloody manc’s again) – and there we have it. Sorry Deco and the others, etc etc…

The Swiss – Joint hosts. I’m not going to support them because they support Paedo’s.

So that leaves me with these choices…

Czech Republic, Croatia, Poland, Russia and Spain

For completely silly reasons, I can’t support the Czech Republic because I don’t care who you are, it shouldn’t be spelled “Czech” it should be spelled Cheque

Croatia – I don’t mind the Croatians, and to be honest there’s been very little footballing reason to dislike them either. Davor Sukur is a name that reminds me how it used to be fun to have a pointy chin. How I miss those days. – Although there’s little reason to dislike them, there’s not particularly much reason to like them either…

Poland – See above. (except the bit about Davor Sukur)

So that brings me down to Russia and Spain

Well, Although my heart says I should support Russia as a whole “thanks for supporting us in the war thing” – I can’t bring myself to support a team as boring as Russia inevitably will be in the tournament.

And so, I have decided to plump for Spain and my reasons are this:-

1.) They’ve never won a tournament – despite being bloody good in qualifying.
2.) They don’t particularly offend me, don’t strike me as particularly arrogant and I cannot recall meeting a Spanard I took an instant frenchmans dislike to.
3.) There’s very little (if any) footballing reason not to. The only result that comes to mind is that Semi-Final vs England in 1996, which we won, because they are as bad at penalties as we are.
4.) They have a few Liverpool players. (see five)
5.) They have Fernando Torres – Who’s a bit of a dream boat.

So there we go, Spain it is…

ALRIGHT, I FUCKING KNOW GTA IV IS OUT – AND IS SUPPOSEDLY AWESOME.

Jesus H Christ.. What gives Marks and Spencers.com the right to go on about “Omg bbq! GTA IV pwns!” – It’s grating me a little..

More so because I decided to get it posted to my work address, and then it arrives on the bloody release date and I can’t pull a fucking sickie…

Come on Lunch time you utter bastard. I feel for the poor fuckers who don’t have as cool a job as me. (but not that much)

*goes and hides in a none-internet connected corner*

Edit: This is possibly the most stupid comment I’ve ever read in the history of mankind…

“Maybe I should set my telly to 720p, rather than 1080i? I’ve heard that the game upscales.”

To be that un-tech-savvy in a single line is, frankly, fucking amazing.

I admit I’ve not been updating lately…

Yeah well, nyah nyah nyah…

Boy am I a busy.. Um Boy at the moment…

Highlights of the last… [nearly] fortnight since I last wrote something…
(Oh yes, to all those lovely Americans, a fortnight is about 14 days)

…

…
…

Not much….

Lost Season 4 is particularly annoying me now, they’ve gone and broken the only rule of disbelief that I can’t suspend – You can’t start fucking around time and then try to be clever. It just doesn’t work, I hate how writers try and make time ‘linear’ and then deflect the reality of what would actually happen.

I drew a xkcd like comic – I think it explains it…

P.s. I had a completely random stranger [girl] who bit me on the ass on Saturday, bizarreness like this should be documented for future generations.

I do wonder sometimes how people actually get into a position to carry off something as inept as this article – the synopsis of which is that all 20-30 year old males are layabouts and all 20-30 females are active, socially adept, go-getters.

Laying the blame neatly at the door of video games, this ‘journalist’ (and i use the term completely sarcastically as she never once cites any source of information or actually backs up a balanced argument with ‘of course this is all complete POV bullshit)

With women, you could argue that adulthood is in fact emergent. Single women in their 20s and early 30s are joining an international New Girl Order, hyper-achieving in both school and an increasingly female-friendly workplace, while packing leisure hours with shopping, traveling and dining with friends. Single young males, or SYMs, by contrast, often seem to hang out in a playground of drinking, hooking up, playing Halo 3 and, in many cases, underachieving. With them, adulthood looks as though it’s receding.

Apparently, women are joining an emergent “New Girl order” of single women. It probably has a cultist acronym like Brazon Individual Teasing (for) Cash and Houses.
Of course, the above statement isn’t at all bias, oh no, it’s not just picking a faction of each species and commenting on them, IT IS A CATEGORIC FACT THAT ALL MALES PLAY HALO 3.

Of course, women could never, I dunno, Travel to get some action? Oh no, they’d never hang out in bars randomly trying to fuck a tramp, oh no, they only ever dine with friends for the sole intention of socialising and never ever to spot cock.
It’s all fucking sex in the city now isn’t it? Alpha female and all that, of course it is…

Super-achievers? Now, I’ve never particularly rated the world of Journalism as ’super-achieving’ so we can rule out the author of this ‘article’ straight away, lets count how many world leaders are female shall we? Two? (not counting recently shot ones) okay, One? – And beyond that completely sexist statement, lets see how many receptionists are male shall we? Two? (and now lets subtract the gay ones)

-5?

Consider: In 1970, 69 percent of 25-year-old and 85 percent of 30-year-old white men were married; in 2000, only 33 percent and 58 percent were, respectively. And the percentage of young guys tying the knot is declining as you read this. Census Bureau data show that the median age of marriage among men rose from 26.8 in 2000 to 27.5 in 2006 – a dramatic demographic shift for such a short time period.

What a shocking misunderstanding of fact this is.. Lets take into account some really basic environmental factors at this juncture shall we.

1) In 1970 – the spice girls did not exist, and therefore all women were self-conscious shells of female kind.
2) In 1970 – Most 25/30 year olds were shagging without the pill. Hence the number of babies knocking around was higher.
3) Nowadays we have much more things to entertain ourselves with,
4) cash/inflation dictate that we HAVE to work nowadays and therefore both sexes are more involved with their career path, social economics and all that jazz.
5) Comparing “it wasn’t like this 40 years ago” isn’t an argument, that is like saying “It wasn’t like this in the stone age”, talk about stating the fucking obvious.

Sounds like someone’s on the blob and has a fucking issue with her halo 3 playing boyfriend who doesn’t give a hoot about her new shoes, her fucking dinner with some bitch she doesn’t actually like, and when she once went to South America when she was 21, purely as a holiday, not to scout for blokes or nothing.

That sound you hear is women not laughing. Oh, some women get a kick out of child-men and their frat/fart jokes. But for many, the child-man is either an irritating mystery or a source of heartbreak. In contemporary female writing and conversation, the words “immature” and “men” seem united in perpetuity.

Here’s some tar, here’s a brush.

I do tend to get quite upset with people who label an entire fucking half of the worlds population as immature because we have different interests. Knowing what a DNS or how the TCPIP protocol is immature is it? – No, it took me training to know what those two things are, it took me 15 fucking years of dedication to understand what a computer does, how it works, how games are made, how everything fits together. Except women have no interest in this, I swear, you can hear the click as their brain switches off if you were once to say this sentence out loud. “You know what, I set up a dyndns.org domain name for my home PC so I can stream MP3’s to my work – happy days” – You may as well speak braille, out loud.

But when we simplyify it for the sake of conversation, it sounds immature.. “Oh i did some stuff that means I can get music at work from home” – it equates to the female mind as “he played around with his computer for a few hours making ga-ga noises”

You know what I consider fucking immature? Looking at pictures in magazines and wishing I looked like that. Getting excited about shoes, I find that fucking immature, commenting on peoples fucking hair because it’s not been laboured over for twelve fucking hours, I find that immature, bitching about people behind their back and then claiming you don’t bitch about people behind their back, that is, you guessed it, fucking immature.

Writing newspaper articles because you had a fit with your boyfriend – that’s fucking immature.

Give young men a choice between serious drama on the one hand, and Victoria’s Secret models, battling cyborgs, exploding toilets and the NFL on the other, and it’s the models, cyborgs, toilets and football by a mile.

Actually, I can’t stand NFL. It’s a nothing sport to me.. Cyborgs are old hat. I accept I do have a perchant for football and maybe even toilets, (and occasionally even models).

But then – doesn’t choice revolve around that exact point? Choice? I know people who couldn’t point at an Xbox360 in a line up. I know some people who actually go to the -shock horror- theater. I know some people who know how to spell soliloquy AND what it means.

It’s about choice. When I come home from a hard day’s underachieving, I want to be entertained, I want something light hearted. A woman would switch on Eastenders (for reasons I’ll never quite get), and I’d opt for something that actually actively engages me, rather than something I observe. I find nothing worse than crying over a dead soap star, but socially interacting with someone shouting “FUCK YOU PWNED N00B” – I find, entertaining.

[Quote not in order]
A signal cultural moment came in April 1997, when Maxim, a popular British “lad magazine,” hit American shores. Maxim plastered covers and features with pouty-lipped, tousled-haired pinups in lacy underwear and, in case that didn’t do the trick, block-lettered promises of sex! lust! naughty! And it worked.

Oh, so it’s all Maxims fault now is it? Not Razzle, not Men Only, Maxim, for showing a bit of T&A – Porn didn’t exist in the 60’s did it? Or maybe you’re blaming it on the lads of Britain for Americas social decline. Maybe that’s it, which means you have the joyous event of the invention of the ladette to come. Enjoy that one America, you’ll enjoy it so so much.
Of course, we need Maxim to tell all males everywhere that women should be objectified, and are only capable for rubbing your bits against – We never figured that out before then, honest. I’d love to see Maxim’s readership figures, but I bet they aren’t 45% of Britain.

Anyway, I’ve gone on long enough. Go and read the article, find her address and assassinate her.

Fly my pretties, fly.

Dan for president (or something similar in an anglopolitical stance)

I could bang on about the dismal performance, the rain, the pitch, the Croatians. But you know what it all boils down to?

Sky Tv.

I would name the all encompassing ‘media’ as being responsible, but because Sky are in control of the premiership, with their fancy overlays and every-twenty second advert breaks, they make money off the premiership. Big money, this inflation then goes into the players back pockets, this makes the players (quite rightfully) concerned about their pay packets more than their country. Getting an injury in an international game (no matter how important) could cost them and their club dear.

I’m a Liverpool fan, but in a line up, I couldn’t spot the same Steven Gerrard as the one who plays wearing a red shirt. His heart simply isn’t in it, you could tell after the game by the question put to him by a sky reporter.

“Is this the most disappointing night of your career?”
“Well, I’ve been knocked out of club competitions before”

But it’s not just Gerrard, every player on that pitch except two (Beckham and Crouch) weren’t fit to wear that strip. Yes, you can lament the injuries and say we were unlucky, but in the final matter of things it boils down to this.

We are not actually as good as the Media would like you to think

I’d rank us as good as Norway – maybe a little worse. Norway don’t go around thinking they are going to win the Euro’s, they don’t sack the manager after ever loss, they plug away thinking that they are mediocre at best and accept their fate. We really need to start playing like this, we really need to stop playing players automatically because of the name on their shirt.

I swear to god, Lampards first kick of the game was probably that penalty.

But enough of that negative talk, at least the manager has been sacked… (I’ll write out his CV here so that everyone knows just how qualified he was to manage England)

CV.
Managed Middlesboro.
Won nothing.

And there we have it, we can all go back to thinking the premiership is the best in the world and sleep soundly at night because we can always blame it on the foreign influence, the manager, the injuries, but what we really need to do is find out, exactly why, we have the tactical naivety of a ten year old and simply, simply, cannot pass the ball.

And then we can appoint a new manager, like (please god) Mourino or maybe (please god no) Martin o’neil and we can basically give them the remit of “qualify for the world cup or be sacked” and we can go through this all again in 2 years.

I woke up on Sunday with a mild case of death-hangover, you know the kind, the kind where your tongue feels like it’s had a random sexual encounter with an egyptians rug, your head feels like someone misplaced an axe and your bottom is kicking out more toxic fumes than… well.. Runcorn. (which, trust me, is a lot)

And even though there was an emergency brew and bacon butty on standby. I still felt like a million dollars (which equates to about five pence at the moment)

You see, it’s about this simple really…. I had this thought as my first thought of the Sunday day…

“What was, just about, the worst possible pair of results for a Scottish person last night?”

I eventually came to the conclusion that it was, indeed, 2-1 to Italy and Israel, with winning goals in the dying seconds of both games, with a completely and utterly undeserved biased decision going against Scotland.

I swear, if you could somehow package Saturday night’s football results into a drinkable liquid, you could name it “hangover-begone™” and sell it for Five pounds (or indeed, one million dollars)

Sure, you could say that I should support the home nations, but you can bet that some smug (Scottish person) turned up at a random pub in Scotland wearing a Russia football top.

So fuck em’

-Now onto the nitty gritty, Wednesday, I’ve got my magic crystal ball here…

We’re going to either:-

1. Win/Draw with the final kick of the game – ala Greece 2-2 draw, Golden balls free kick.
2. Concede within the first minute and take the entire match to get level (see above)
3. Score early, and then try and defend, which is when it all goes wrong…

Basically, I’m not optimistic, If our premiership “superstars” don’t step up their game for this one, I’m turning Israeli.

The Nice Guy Paradox [Solved] | dmiessler.com

Ahhhh shit…

This bloke makes more sense than I care to mention. Which is highly fucking irritating when you’re an ugly, unwanted wanker such as myself.

If you smoke enough drugs and think a bit like a hippy for a moment… We all travel through time, every second in fact. Sure, we don’t have much more control over it than “oh there goes another second, there goes another..”

But then there’s the bigger, longer term decisions that we do have control over. (Albeit very limited) – Conviction of my actions is a skill I find sadly lacking sometimes. Sometimes, I make a decision and then fail to stick to it and in the long run I should have. Fear of the unknown is huge, but fear of being wrong is bigger.

More importantly however is that we cannot go back, we cannot go back and choose the other path – no matter how much we desire it, we can’t go back and help the dinosaurs out. We can merely learn from our mistakes and vow never to make them again.

And at least in principal that works… Not much fun though.

Edit: This website is becoming a burden to me. I cannot believe that a website of words and pictures can turn into a weapon to be used against me. That’s like lobbing a diary at me.

And it was so.

Jesus I’m so glad it’s crunchie day today. I don’t think I can handle another day of doing very little whilst being paid for it (it sounds great, it’s not) – And so the weekend rolls around into view with the daunting task of going back’ out there and minging (I mean ming-a-ling-a-ling ling) again. And then OMGBBQ.

Well, at least, I hope there’s a BBQ on Saturday.. Dependant on the weather, of course, oh and some fair winds, and my ability to surface after tonights onslaught.

I’m not even sure now how drunk I intend on getting tonight. It’s either, “windmilling into a pack of idiots” drunk or maybe “scarily abusing anyone who moves” drunk. Or maybe I’ll head down my ol’ favourite “paranoiadrunk” –

Either way, I can’t really lose – Life’s good like that.

Funny how the woodwork surfaces once shavings have happened isn’t it? – I can see life being quite interesting for the next few weeks/months, lets hope so anyway……………

Below is a coded message, have fun working it out….

yjod esd’my brtu er;; rmvpfrf/

Chocolate? Eh?

Relationships are funny sometimes, I guess that people go into them with a narcissistic viewpoint of “I’m special so they should just love me”, “I’m so special that if we eventually split up the other person is going to be so devastated that they can’t operate as a human any more”, “I’m so special because when I tell everyone I need them they raleigh, tell me I’m special, and I believe them absolutely”, “I’m so special because…, I’m so special due to…, I’m so special and…”

Whilst being so pre-occupied convincing everyone else that you’re special, you forget that you are, you forget the things that make you special and most importantly, you forget that other people are special. It’s not a competition, it’s not a “standard” that others have to reach, I’ll super seed any standards set by anyone, when I believe they have super seeded mine – Stop thinking you’re better than everyone else and you’ll become a nicer person. Lose the chip on your shoulder and people will care for you more, stop being so hard and final all the time. Life is too short.

I’m wary of ever committing to anyone who doesn’t see me as special. Call that selfish, but someone has to give as well as take. not just take take take. Too many times over the last year, I made a real effort and got mere “thank you’s” in return, and I’m not talking superficial effort, I’m not talking gifts. A gift to me is something that has next to zero monetary value. Sometimes a paper card with a good joke in it is enough to make me laugh and smile.

Don’t think I’ll be crying and pining about it. I’m the most special person I know, and I’ve not changed my opinion yet. Just as much as you perceive that I don’t deserve you, you don’t deserve me either for the same reasons. Except, I never enforced my “specialness” as a law to obey.

Edit: So looking back, this paragraph was out of order. And it was based on a paranoid misguided belief. Being hurt hurts I guess. I was angry, and based on what I know now, I was angry for a completely wrong reason. I was having a pretty bad birthday, Sorry.

Here is the bottom line….. I hope we can still be friends, that’s all I want.

_____________________________________

(Oh, and I’m 29 today. I expect fucking presents from my imaginary loyal fan club of seven – thanks)

Hey, and if not presents, maybe just a post in the comments? You miserable silent bastards ya.

*normal ScrewYouHippy service will resume soon – Now with more woman hatred!*

Hello everyone,

I’m a pauper. I’m now going to result to begging. Please feel to stop reading now…

But I only want a new pair of shoes for little Timmy, I can’t believe no one has clicked my bloody adverts. Well, I tell a lie, four people out of 1349 have clicked on it. Resulting in a packet of polo’s for little Timmy. But sadly Google don’t honor cheques until they hit $10.00, which is never going to happen at this bloody rate…

You can resume wanking now. Thanks.

Edit: Look at the little dude icon at the top!, he’s almost default! (Wow, what are the odds of that.. (About 1 in 6 million I make it))

Edit: For any members of the Google Adsense team, the above paragraph is not intended to coax people into clicking my adverts. I’m merely suggesting that I’ve added some more to my website upon your suggestion

I really should stop using the numbers 1234 as my password as they probably aren’t the most difficult to guess.

Anyway – someone tried to hack my FTP server which may have concluded in my website being a bit fucked last night. Sorry about that, no doubt some spotty twelve year old gimp is having a good ol’ giggle.

Either way, there attempts were pretty futile (as you can see)

Secret Wall Tattoos like the idea, don’t necessarily think it’s very grown up or adult like, but hey. Looks like quite a few hotels have been hit…

I am not very talkative because I over used my jaw this weekend. Mainly calling people pedophiles…

Someone has to.

Oh my god I’m nearly 29. Okay, so it’s half a year away and that includes all the joys of Halloween, Bonfire night, and Christmas inbetween but I just realised that I’m getting old. I say just, What I actually mean is I started to realise this when I got a bank account when I was 7… More on that later

You know how you know you’re getting old? Because you start getting invited to dinner parties and “quiet nights in” watching X Factor and wishing that you were 18 again and puking in the streets. (Not that I did much of that when I was 18, I was too busy being hit by cars and stuff)

Yes – last night I ended up drinking 5 pints of a beer called Shrop-enhe.. Oh something starting with Shrop. Suffice to say this morning I woke up with a hangover from a place just south of Hull.

Tonight? When all I really want to do is sit indoors with my belly out (occasionally stroking it) playing Test Drive Unlimited (which is really, really very good) – when in reality I’ll no doubt be watching crappy television “with friends”.

With reference to my Bank Account

I really should be getting paid more, I’m obviously a genius and therefore I should be getting naked women and money thrown at me from all angles. –

I phoned my “internet bank” the other day to request my username… (as Firefox has decided to forget it) – The telephone conversation was the usual unhelpful conversation.

“Oh, I’m afraid I can’t give out that information over the phone as it’s an unsecured line” says the representitive who I will now call “TSB”

<TSB>”Can i have your account number, your address and your full name please?”
<me>”Okay – *tells requested information*”
<TSB>”Great, can I have your date of birth and mothers maiden name?”
<me>”Okay – *tells requested information*”

[pause]

<TSB>”Okay, the information you requested is in the post sir.”

[pause]

<me>”Can I ask a question?”
<TSB>”Certainly”
<me>”Given that this is an “unsecure” line – and I’ve just given you all my banking details including my name, mothers maiden name, account number and address, which is everything required to make either a withdrawal or a deposit at any branch of your bank by someone impersonating me…. Given all this information, can I ask what your response would be to me enquiring if this was the correct telephone number?”
<TSB>”Pardon?”
<me>”What if I dialled this number incorrectly and you’re merely pretending to be my bank?”

[panicked and very very long pause]

<TSB>”Thats very unlikely sir”
<me>”but not impossible”
<TSB>”urm.. er.. no. not impossible”

And there we go. Internet banking scam for anyone reading this post. Cheers.

What If I’m Right Lyrics.

Take me on a journey & be there till the end
It wont be an uphill struggle, on you I can depend
You’ll promise me a dream home with roses round the door
you’ll cover me in diamonds, there’s nothing I want more

but I got my doubts & what if I’m right
you won’t forsake me, your mother won’t hate me
but I got my doubts & what if I’m right
you’ll be strong & you’ll turn me on
but I got my doubts &, what if I’m right
you’ll be true & be faithful to
but I’ve got my doubts & what if I’m right
what if I’m right

You’ll be just like every other fucking woman who doesn’t appreciate what you’ve got…

Bitch.

Fraid you can’t say “penis” in my comments any more. Blame the spammers.
Cheers.

Why do I kid myself that I can go to a pub and have just one? What is it in my head that dictates that I’ll honestly believe that I am capable of doing this? Why, when drinking one beer, do I become the most popular mother fucker on Earth and all my friends have a similar one-beer idea? Why does my phone ring all of a sudden when I’m having one beer and I end up inviting seven people out for a drink, for one-beer? Perhaps if I could answer this, I would know why I woke this morning with a foul hangover and the inability to type more than a single word without a typo. (Suffice to say my delete key is getting a good kicking at the moment)

Does anyone know how I can make lots of money? I’ve tried showing my arse on webcams and online bingo but I seem to just end up spending more money than I make. *sigh* – Suffice to say, I need some suggestions. Answers in the comments please. Ta.

fuck off you, contemptuous fuck-wit shite.

As topic

And so it begins, England fans all over the world look eagerly for people to blame for Englands exit from the World Cup 2006.

Theres just one arguement as far as I see. “We” weren’t good enough. A collection of errors and factors all mounted up to put us out of the tournament.

We play a temperamental (young) striker up on his own, against a bunch of cheats. – What more do we need to say? Eventually he’s going to lose his temper. (Personally I don’t think he stamped hard enough)

We know we’re not good at penalties. Yet play like we always aim for the game to go that way.

We struggle against teams filled with Premiership rejects (and in that I include Portugal) – We give teams far too much respect and they punish us for it.

We pick the wrong players, and the right players don’t show up. Quite what happened to Lampard and Gerrard this tournament is beyond me. And considering I’m one of Gerrards biggest fans, It’s upsetting to see him shackled into a position he doesn’t play. Why Lampard is even on that pitch and compared in the same sentence to Gerrard is beyond me.

We take strikers who are injured. Then we play them on their own. The two fit strikers we do take, we don’t play – unless we can play them alone, obviously.

We play the long ball over possibly the best midfield four in the tournament. Therefore completely ruining our strongest asset.

They let Argentine referee’s ref England games the day after Argentina go out of the world cup. (I mean, cynically, it’s fucking obvious isn’t it?)

Ronaldo should be disallowed return to this country. He’s an unsportsmanlike cheating cunt.

There’s the reasons – but everyone in the UK is overlooking the biggest one.

We simply weren’t/aren’t that good. We have no right to claim “unlucky” – what the fuck was that cross bar miss with Ecuador if it wasn’t luck? What about Sweden hitting the post two thousand times? Unlucky? Were we fuck. We had all the luck in the world and still didn’t play.

The only point when we played, – as per fucking usual- was when we were at 10 men. Why do we always have to be underdogs before we play, Put us 1 nil down or as 10 men and we start to play.

The biggest disappointment however – is that I was sucked into the Medias hype machine again, thinking that perhaps we might have a chance. The line up of players we had are the best we’ve had, not just for 40 years, but possibly ever – and through a collection of mistakes that really shouldn’t be made, we’re out. Again.

Yet this time I’m not really that bothered. I’d prefer to be out than play badly and win.

I just don’t get it I’m afraid. I just don’t get how a team of Premiership players of such quality can play so curiously. I wish, I’d woken to FIFA announcing the news that they had decided to make all football matches 45 minutes long and this was to take effect right now.

England can play for 45 minutes. Apparently they can really play for 45 minutes – and it’s either the Swedish coach programming them at half time, or they simply run out of steam.

England at the top of their game, really flying, can beat everyone in this Tournament. Having watched every game and every team closely, I don’t think there’s a team that we couldn’t give a serious game to. On our day.

However it just doesn’t look like the England team are going to ever take off. We’re never going to get into this famed third gear. We just look boring and predictable and unexciting and completely inadequate. Utterly incapable of posessing the ball, utterly incapable of passing it (and considering our midfield players, this is somewhat amazing to me) and as for scoring. Jesus H Christ.

England aren’t going to win this World Cup, not with all the fortune in the world.

I’m not bored with the internet, women, alcohol, impending football tournaments, bills, cars, windscreen wipers, people who don’t talk to me any more, people who insist on talking to me, emails, spam, pornography, television, strangers, money, screwyouhippy, hattrick, tradindex, work, bars, canadians, xbox golf games, sex, the red top newspapers, my chair, curry, budweiser, planning, surprises, birthdays, meeting people, drunkeness, baldness, fashion, shopping, MOTs, tax disks, family, pets, plastering and decorating, painting, ebaying (selling), web camera drivers, lynx deoderent, lost DVD’s that don’t work, empty coke glasses, not having a PC, visual basic, blogging, reading, thinking, breathing.

I’m not bored with any of that. I’m bored with my life.

Genius is not someone being good at something, Genius is someone comitted to finishing that something.

I’m so sad because now I have regrets and there is nothing anyone can do about them.

I will go down on you and make you happy but only long enough until you think it’s going to get better, then I will come back up and fuck you.

Sincerely,
Gas Prices

Although paranoid, I thought I’d check my webstats to see if I’m just imagining visitors. Apparently I hit the heady heights of 400 people a day reading this.. So I’d better stop the crying and wanking whilst I type.

I think something more interesting than that fact however is that 4 people have found my website using Google and the search terms “Easy easy easy” and perhaps more worryingly “Kevin Keegan”.

I have an unusually high Bulgarian following (higher than my British following to be precise) and I was once visited by an Austrian (hello to you)

Am I talking to myself? Have I finally lost every single reader of this website? I see the hit counter going up but I’m worried it’s just me…

Because I mistake my memories for company…

Was it really 2004 when I was in Mexico? Wow, what a long time ago. My memories of that holiday have been with me for this long and they are still vivid every-second recollections.

Why bring this up now? Because I’m going to see one of those memories again, walking and talking and I can’t wait. I can’t wait to hang out with the two people I wished I lived near. I can’t wait to be side by side with them again enjoying life the way you’re supposed to. It’s rare that I miss people. I’ve come to this conclusion that I rarely miss something when it’s gone, but when I do miss someone, I really do.

Now one of the people I miss is visiting me and it’s such a mixed feeling. It was 2004 when I last saw them, I was a completely different person even back then. Since then, I’ve had a pretty eventful two years, am I still the same? Am I still capable of being the same person that they enjoyed being with?

More over, should I even attempt to be that person when I was 25… Would that be denying time and trying to convince people I am something I’m not? Perhaps, as the owl from some TV show said, I should just be myself and maybe let time slow me down a little.

Alright, I’m not sure which owl that was.. I might be misquoting a frog. Or perhaps a Dog.. I dunno… My point is that which way do I play it? Try and be who I was two years ago? or be myself and accept that two years ago is a long time?

I guess I’ll find out when I get there…

Wow. What the fuck is going on at ScrewYouHippy.com? There appears to be lots of meloncholic bullshit flying around.. Normal Dolphin hating shit will no doubt resume soon…

It’s often said that everyones mother is special. Granted, they always are – my affinity with my mother is probably a double bladed sword. One one hand she’s capable of controlling everything I do, (Simply by succinct application of the name “Christopher”) and then she’s capable of talking me out of any mood that I might be in.

Just for an example. She gives me advice as if she’s lived it. She has that worldly wise presence about her that just makes me wonder if there is an end to her opinion on matters.

Then there is intuition. She knows when I phone out of the blue and enquired if I was okay. To which, frankly, I replied “no”. We discussed the multitude of reasons why and she managed to turn me back into the person I know I am. Her ability to detect my mood even a hundred miles away is quite special really.

I guess mothers are always under-rated. They suffer the indignity of the customary mothers day card and a bunch of flowers when really they deserve a slap up meal and a years supply of Heat magazine.

I often band the phrase “best mate” around quite a bit amongst my friends. One week its John, the next it’s Sean – but really theres only ever one contender. My mum, she’s my best mate, my closest ally and one of the reasons I consider myself so special – Because I’m an offshoot of her.

I know she won’t read this and that’s probably for the best. I just wish I could say these things to her instead of to an anonymous crowd of silent onlookers. One of my male failings is that I’m seemingly incapable of saying what I really wish I could – yet through considered thought and spellcheck (sometimes) I can sometimes do it here.

I hope people don’t seriously think I want to wipe out dolphins or hate women as openly as some posts suggest. I hope you onlookers understand whats real and what isn’t.

I’ve been told I’m like a twenty pence peice. I have quite a few edges but two main conflicting sides. One side is the cocky, arrogant confiedent young man who doesn’t care what anyone thinks or says about him. And the other side is a shy, retiring and gentle side that all too often gets pushed away because people prefer to see this particular twenty pence peice tails side up.

One of the most entertaining things about life is the phrase “lets just be friends” – I will state this now just so that it is clear. You can’t just be friends after you’ve seen each other naked. It simply doesn’t happen.

Whenever I hear that phrase I think “yeah, and hell might freeze over”.

Backstory

I’ve just split up with a girl that it blatantly wasn’t working with. You know the kind of thing, Emmerdale watching, not really seeing each other, that sort of thing. Whilst I knew it wasn’t right and I wasn’t really that bothered. I also knew that we “got on” in a friendship kind of way. Annoyingly I did enjoy my time with her and we had a few giggles.

Then on Saturday we reached the head of the relationship and decided that enough was enough. I would say it was mutual really; but something inside of me still hurts. Maybe it’s male pride and ego that dictates that any girl who does manage to go out with me has to fall in love with me, head over heels, at least for a couple of weeks.

But that didn’t happen this time – and she was as unbothered as splitting up as I was. That’s when it hit me, a little bit of me is going to miss her. A little bit of me is wondering that maybe my lack of interest is what killed her enthusiasm in me. Maybe if I tried harder, it would have worked.

If, but and maybe at this stage, I know. It’s another chapter in my life that has slammed shut – and now I have a new problem.

I’m going to see her again… Inevitably I’m going to see her again. Driving past in my car, drinking in the same bar, it’s going to happen and what I’m most upset about and the reason my stomach feels like crap is that I’m gutted we can’t be friends. I’m gutted we can’t just hang out and have a laugh with no real reason. I hate life for the social “the things we do” rules. Who invented these rules?

Nope, we both have to move on, awkwardly waving whenever we see each other, worrying what the other thinks of us. When all I want to say is “Don’t worry what I think, I’ll always have time for you – I always did”. This isn’t some sort of plea to get back together, that’s not what I want. I just want to hang out with the person I was hanging out with before we crossed that line.

It’s so frustrating to have the most enjoyable conversation of the relationship. When you’re ending that relationship with that conversation.

My girl Alphabet is now in need of an update, about 2 minutes ago we can now consider G no more. Yet again I’ve been dumped via a text message. (That’s two for two now)

Happy new year you bunch of bastards. And what an odd new years eve night that was. Firstly I wasn’t that drunk, secondly I wasn’t finished when the Bar was, and thirdly, I’m pissed that I had to pay for a really average night..

What a swizz, people didn’t even say happy new year. They just stood around like a bunch of cunts and looked coked up to the eyeballs. I swear, I’m going away next year. (And like a new years resolution, I know I won’t)

I have some big news for ScrewYouHippy.com very soon. Big, life changing, news. It’s going to be hard reading for some people, and for others it’s going to be out of the blue, and for one or two, it might even be heart breaking. (No I’m not gay)

Anyway, I’ll save that one for a bit because I might jinx myself.

Toodle pip, have a good ‘06 you slutbags.

(Ironically, when I typed slutbags then the computer handily autocorrected it to being “Slugbags” – which is strangely just as applicable)

Apparently ScrewYouHippy.com is worth $0.00 – Which I think is overrated. It’s at least worth £15 because that’s how much my host costs. (Therefore the database space alone is worth that amount)

Anyway, I’m going to go away now and cry… Technorati, what the fuck do you know anyway? *sulk*

It’s a sad day, but I’ve just killed my Tda@Screwyouhippy.com e-mail address, I decided that several thousand spam messages a year wasn’t funny any more.

Lots of posts about spam lately isn’t there? That’s because that how interesting my life is at the moment.

Anyway, anyone who needs to contact me can do so via the comments, otherwise, you should know my real e-mail address.

Dear Sir/Madam,

If you have a product that Invariably am not interested in, (but who knows, my readers might be fucking spastic enough to want them) then please send an e-mail to the below address and you can Buy Website Advertising on my website rather than trying to make a profit from me for free.

I am currently selling the mighty screen real estate that is the following:-

Apparently this kind of crap sized advertising works for MillionDollarWebsite so why can’t it work for me? (oh, that’s because I’m not a spawny jammy gimmicky little shite possibly)

Anyway, if you would like to advertise your crap on my website, drop me a line, I’ll even draw you a big banner…

Mail me you spamming whores

Otherwise, I’ll continue to block your bollocks and intermittently moan about it.

Cheers

Bitchface

What I really want…

I want to live in another country other than England so I can remember what it is that I love about this place so much that it keeps me here.

I want to do a job that helps humanity, I dunno, something modest like putting man on Mars, perhaps inventing a more sensible toupeé. Something that doesn’t inspire laughter.

I want to be taken seriously by people who think I’m joking all the time, I want some people who think I’m serious to lighten the fuck up.

I want people to miss me, not just with darts.

I want a faster car so that slower cars can try and make me drive faster just to show off what I can do.

I want to sit and watch someone completely ignore me but be completely sure that I am watching them.

I want to grasp a situation as it’s happening rather than walking out and then kicking my shins repeatedly saying over and over “dumb dumb dumb dumb”.

I want to lose some weight, but I don’t want to exercise. If it could just fall off, that’d be nice.

I want to earn more money doing a job I love.

I want to figure out that sometimes my opinion isn’t always right, however, I also want acknowledgement when my opinion strikes lucky.

I want someone to kneel to my demands.

I want terrorists to continue blowing themselves up. I wish we could just put them in a playpen somewhere so they can just get on with it. I’m gonna be seriously fucked off if you blow my guts all over cement.

I want to not imagine things so much and really see what I think rather than imagine things that probably aren’t true.

I want, one day, to be able to decypher the above sentence.

I want to learn how .php interfaces with MySql so that I can stop these fucking comment spammers. (Which are being ably blocked by Wordpresses Blacklist at the moment)

I want to be sure I’m loved, probably a bit too much, plus I want to make sure I’m in love next time and not just in lust.

I want to kick the crap out of my doctor. (Yes, yes, I’m sure you’re an intelligent bloke, but fuck me, less with the ego already twatty.)

I want nicer teeth. I’ll rip them all out one day.

I want to be drunk, yet I don’t really want to pay for it. (Either monetarily or via a hangover)

I want to limit my swearing to the following; Our Editor; My Life; My Cats when I step on them in the dark.

I want one of my friends to NOT say he’s getting married.

I want to fix my category icons, I just can’t figure out a stylish way to do them.

I want it to be Wednesday already.

I want to be rich, but you can keep your fame.

I want to go to bed, but this fucking insomnia prevents me…

I want to stop being so selfish and posting how much I want.

But most of all

I really really want a zig-a-zig-ah…

Hello, I just got home from work, well I did about fifteen minutes ago.

I wish I wasn’t quite as depressed as I am right now. Oh well, never mind.

I’ve been called some names in the past. Some I can’t repeat for fear of bringing back deeply buried psychological undoings, others, such as “Wankface”, “twat”, “asshole” and “fucknuts” are all fine.

As a bloke, you can pretty much call me what you want and I’ll happily smile away thinking “yes, but you don’t know me therefore I don’t really care” – However, you will get my attention (and/or bonus points) if you use some originality when deciding upon a name to call me.

Last night I finally had a girl announce something to me that I didn’t have a smart alec retort. (I’m desperately trying not to bite peoples heads off, and conversely, I’m trying not to be such a smart alec bastard. I even apologised to a barmaid for saying something that sounded slightly sarcastic.)

Yep, I’m trying to be geunine Chris. Instead of me sarcastically calling you a fuckwitt, Now I’ll mean it.

Anyway, back to this original girl.

“You look evil”

Impressive. I mean, if someone handed me that line when I’m sober I would have invariably gone for a “Dr Evil” type reply.

“Well done, I’m bald, and if I do this” *puts little finger next to mouth*…

Unfortunately, I was a tinsy little bit drunk last night and therefore my witts had sadly left the building. I had no reply, no comeback.

I look Evil. Hell, in my time I’ve had I look like a Criminal (Ex girlfriends dad), I look like a thug (my own mother) and I look like a twat (me)

But never Evil.

What I woke up this morning thinking though was, “Is that a good thing or not?” – I mean, some girls like guys who aren’t any good. (When I say “some girls” I actually, of course, mean every fucking girl on the face of the planet) – So maybe the bad boy image is quite a good one. Evil. That appeals to me a little bit.

In every film that stars some incarnation of the Devil, (an example sadly eludes me right now – Did I mention that I was drunk last night) the Devil character is always well groomed, good looking evil Satan.

Maybe looking Evil is good. I’d be a lot more upset if someone came up to me and said “you look really nice“.

On finding that link on the last word right there, I happened across one of my old posts, which led me to a Microsoft website… Check this out for bad grammar…

Ouchie

Maybe I’ve lost that inner strength that I had when I was a kid.

Nowadays it seems that I have a tremendous amount of trouble peeling a banana. No longer do they split properly like that cartoons superhero’s logo. Nope.

My technique for opening a banana hasn’t changed much over the years, when I was about ten, I would have considered myself as a banana peeling expert. However, I have just had to use a screwdriver and a pair of scissors to get a banana to peel in a fashion becoming of a soft squishy fruit surrounded by an impenetrable shield of armour.

I wonder if the US military have ever considered the protective properties of a banana, apparently it would stop anyone ever being able to penetrate it.

Were the words I sadly drew short yesterday…

Picture the scene…

After working another 11 hour shift, on the way home I decided to get myself a bottle of water and some Peanut M&M’s. These two items are not significant, and that is the critical point here. None significant items.

However, on the other hand. I consider chewing gum whilst driving a very significant item as it prevents me from swearing perfusely at the people that quite frankly drive like cunts. (Pardon my French, German and Italian) – I consider Chewing gum a pretty big requirement for driving sanely.

Forgetful me, I stopped by in the shop and picked up the aforementioned items, then forgot the chewing gum.

In the carpark, I decided to go back into the shop and buy myself some (as it was the sole purpose of going to the shop in the first place)

Here is, line by line, my following conversation –

“Typical, I forgot the only thing I actually came in for…” *Holding up chewing gum*
“The only reason?” says the girl behind the counter, “I know the real reason you come in here…”

And now ladies and gentlemen I want you to read back the title of this post with me..

What. The. Fuck. Is. That. Supposed. To. Mean?

I’m confused.

Now theres a word thats hard to spell…

Like the time when I actively remember thinking “it’d be so easy to just yank the steering wheel and head into that bus” – I got a renewal notification from my web-host in my spam-mail this morning and it presents to me a decision.

Can I be bothered rambling on this website that no one reads about shit that doesn’t matter to anyone but myself?

I am getting to the stage where I think I’ve said just about everything I need to say in the world (Albeit with the exception of my 4×4 on road, off road car argument. (Coming soon!) – and to be frank, I’m growing slightly concerned that this whole thing is getting a little boring. Not to mention hideously unfunny. I’ve read back some of my older posts and it’s like someone else has written them.

So – I’m trying to avoid the grandiose “Goodbye cruel world” but I just might let this domain name run free into the wild again…

Another topic, yet the title of this post still applies

Some woman decided to throw her drink over me last night. I’m beginning to think these are defining moments in my life where I have to take solace and ponder my actions.

My recall of the events is patchy. Suffice to say I was invariably minding my own business and someone else was the perpetrator.

However, this one, I’m not so sure. Maybe I was in the wrong?

*Standing minding my own business*?
*Girl walks past and stands on my foot*?
*Me, not being in a particularly good mood – reacts with “Ow, fuck”*?
*Girl thinks I’m swearing at her*?
*Girl says something about me being in the wrong*
*I point out to the girl that she is short, fat and ugly*
*Girl gets a little defensive – throws a drink over me*
*Rather than rearranging her face, me just says “yeah nice one – now shoo”*
*Girl resists shooing gestures*
*Me gets a little more force full and says “BYE!”*
*Girl eventually limps off with her knuckles dragging three feet behind her like the inbred bitch she was*?

I’ve marked the ones I’m not so sure about with a question mark, because to be honest, I could have walked up to her called her a fat ugly little slag without any provocation at all. But lets face it, that’s not exactly characteristically me.. Well, not on a Saturday

And this brings me back to the subject of this Title. Should I continue with everything I do? Going out every weekend isn’t getting me anywhere – I’m slowly realising that there is no point to it, no final outcome. To my logical male brain, this frustrates me. X+Y=Z and all that.

Perhaps I’m getting old. Perhaps this is the mid-life crisis three years early?

I’m sick of being a comedian for people that happily laugh away with me and then go swanking off with some wanker because he’s wearing a white t-shirt that says “Wanker” across it. (I just made this person up; this t-shirt sadly does not exist)

I need a break, and next weekend. I’m going to take one.

I’ll post more when I feel like it.

Three more interesting things happened this weekend. 1. The girl at the party last week that I didn’t say hello to has decided to point out how pissed off she was that I didn’t say hello to all of my friends, they all now think I’m a wanker for blanking a girl I don’t remember what she looks like. Plus, I’m more than slightly irritated that SHE COULD HAVE SAID HELLO TOO.

2. I saw N last night again, not seen her for a long time and for the first time last night I detected more than a little bit of nastiness from her. Not sure why exactly, but maybe it was when she told me that she was 21 and I said “You musta had a big fucking paper round” – These people have no soul, I swear. – If I was a wanker with a T-shirt that said “wanker”, That line would have got a laugh…

3. I decided in my drunken stupor to make a long distance phone call last night – another one of my more idiotic maneuvers, now I have a few more apologies to make. Great. I wouldn’t mind but someone could have just told me I was in a mood before I pressed the green telephone icon. Moreover, I’m now writing about it on a public forum knowing full well who might read this and be even MORE pissed off at me because I decided to share my complete and utter inability to do anything right with the entire world.

Well, I made it, amazingly, I now have £2.15 remaining to last me for a week. This is a simple task when compared to the mamoth task that was this weekend.

But I’m here, and if I was into ranking the weekends on an easy to read scale, I’d give this one a pretty high up there mark.

The usual suspects

“Do you think it’s sad that we’re both here two nights in a row?” says a girl that I know from the nightclub I always go to. Strictly off the radar, she kind of has a point. – You see the same people every night and yet you know actually very little about them. I guess that’s what was good about this weekend, it was a little chance to learn more about people I consider to be just above that “complete stranger” level.

The Hello game

I’m rapidly thinking I’m going to turn this website into “ThatGameWePlay.com”.

You know when you know someone, but you don’t know where you know them, and maybe the idea that you know them is actually being confused with having seen that person somewhere and never actually speaking to them but instead, merely admiring from a distance.

I people watch, it’s a really bad habit of mine and lately I’ve been doing so well not to do it when I’m out in public, but for a few weeks now I’ve been slipping back into my old lip reading ways.

My friend pointed out, on several occasions that I was being watched by a girl sat at a table. I looked over and realised that she was familiar in some way. Perhaps an old school friend, (no I was too far out of town for that), maybe she was an ex-flame (then I remembered I have none of those either) and moved onto the dreaded scenario.

A friend of a friend of a friend.

That horrible third link, you’re pretty sure you know of them, but are not sure you know them well enough to even remotely consider saying hello.

So I didn’t. Mainly because I’m a horrible coward, I pretended she wasn’t looking over at me expectantly, I ignored it, I got steadily more and more drunk.

A few hours later in a nightclub, I spotted her again in the crowd, likewise, I’m fairly sure she spotted me… Closer she came, I rolled my eyes, You’re gonna make this ignoring plan really difficult for me eh? I thought.

it got to the point of embarressing as she was stood on my foot. I still wasn’t sure if I knew her, I wasn’t sure if I could name her friend, that connecting bridge that I knew her by…

The bottom line is, I said hello, I plucked up the courage (or at least drank enough) to say hello. I picked someone I knew and said “You’re M’s friend aren’t ya?” – sweet mercies meant that I was right.

“Why the fuck has it taken you so long to say hello to me?” She asks…

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
AAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHH
HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHhh

I’m gonna check my IP address logs for this website because it’s like someone is reading it and then handing it out as a script to people I meet in the street.

I felt like saying “You have a mouth, you can also initiate a conversation, I don’t consider ‘hello’ a marrage propsal”

For Forty Quid a week. (Oh I wish)

Watch em go’

Four people wanted to buy my watch off me last night. That’s how fucking cool I am, you heard me, FOUR random strangers wanted to buy my watch.

Why?

Because this is my watch

Only mine is the “all blue” version because it looks cooler

A while back I hosted a cool Anime animation of some random bloke trying to get through a door… While it was cool, it also sucked away a shit load of bandwidth because You leeching bastards (you know who you are) decided to put it into your sig. without actually uploading it to anywhere where you pay for the fucking bandwidth.

And so. I’m going to exact my revenge by leeching this cool little animation from someplace different entirely.

Yah boo, sucks to be you.

I was down in the new Amsterdam, staring at this yellow haired girl.
Mr Jones strikes up a conversation with a Black haired Flamenco dancer.
She dances while his father plays guitar,
She’s suddenly beautiful,
We all want something beautiful, I wish I was beautiful

Mr Jones and me looking at the video
When I look at the television, I want to see me, staring right back at me
We want to be big stars, we don’t know why, and we don’t know how.
But when everybody loves me, I’m gonna be just about as happy as I can be,
Mr Jones and me, are gonna be big stars..

And I have no idea what pythagoras theory is because I know this song off by heart. – I’m not even sure I spelt pythagoras right…

My Ebay experience so far has been 50% postive and 50% negative. Yes my sugarcoated friends, I’ve once been fleeced for fourty squid over a Gamecube, and I’ve once got the pair of sunglasses I asked for (and bang on time I might add)

Either way, I’ve gone back, yes – in my [seemingly] never ending quest to play Resident Evil 4, I’ve gone to buy another GameCube from another seller on Ebay

Feel free to call me an idiot. I care not.

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message They are Dead,
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

They were my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

Yes my friends, my Shrimp are dead…

That is the first and last Smiley that will appear on ScrewYouHippy.com

Ominous though that sounds, I’m fairly sure I’m safe.

Yes, I’m back from my holiday in Sunny (sometimes) Gran Canaria.

With the runny nose and the post-alocholic depression that always follows a lads holiday, I’ve realised two things, 1. My life is pretty much a collection of missed opurtunities, repetitive stories and generally complete and utter crap.

and secondly, I’m not getting any younger. A few years ago, I went to this exact place, with most of the same friends, and everything was older, I didn’t enjoy it as much as last time because I’ve grown a little wiser and my expectations of things have risen.

There’s no point trying to “pull women” on a holiday because it will never turn into anything long lasting? Isn’t that something an old person would say? Not a single, twenty something male out with his mates?

Yep… Things are going to have to change.

P.s. Oh I’m back – Bet ya cheering from the roof tops.

In my not-very-humble opinion, there is nothing worse than staying in when your bank account is looking rosey. Yes, I have no friends in the local vacinity with which I can go kill a few more braincells with this weekend. I think it might rank up there on the “Boring scale” right next to watching the pope die.

Call me insensitive, but watching a fucking window for an hour last night was definitely the most boring thing I’ve ever seen broadcast on Tv. People die every day, get over it.

Onto other news that I can belittle…

Fuck, I’m even too bored to do that…

Move along, nothing to see here.

Well, you see, I go and re-write my comments system and not a single bloody person comments about it.

Well thanks for being the superb bunch of software testers that you aren’t.

I’m so disappointed by the readership of ScrewYouHippy, I thought you lot were better than that. (Well actually I didn’t, I equated you to the smell of a wet dog)

Bottom line: Comment you sluts.

I know.

Edit: and I don’t know why..

Either way, I’ve disabled them for now because of two reasons. A) They didn’t work. B) You lot never post anything interesting.. E-mail Me if you disagree or need to vent your spleen.

I will get them back working when I have a fucking *clue* what the hell is going on. At the moment I don’t. All I know is that I got mega mega mega hits on Saturday the 26th of March for some reason which has pushed my bandwidth usage upto 908mb for the month, (compared to what I normally do.. about 100mb a month)

If it goes above 1000mb for a month, no more screwyouhippy.com (There’s a target for ya)

You have four days.

Further Edit: I completely rewrote my authorisation code thingy and now it works. (Although to be honest, it’s weaker than the pope) – At least my comments are back online.

I love Time Lapse photography. Here is a cool website with so many videos that will make you go “fuckin cool” -
Here

2 Fast 2 Furious is a shockingly bad film on a level that the world has never seen before or since.

GT4 is good, but those licences are pissing me off

My life is a waste of space

I really *really* shouldn’t say to short (good looking) women “You should quit smoking, it stunts ya growth”

Remember never to wear a woolen jumper in a heat wave again

Cars reverse AND steer – (And no, I really don’t care what people think)

My phone hasn’t beeped, this preturbs me. However, I love my new Phone

I can’t dance, but that doesn’t mean I can’t comment on others inability to dance either

Brass bands give me a headache

I hate Saturday nights in

Capital one don’t do online internet banking

PS2’s work at 45 degree’s. (not just flat or vertical like the manual suggests)

Our game looks like the film

I owe a Tenner to my mate, because he took the phrase “I have no cash” a little toooo litterally.

I hate “crunk”

I need travel insurance (again)

I think I’m addicted to chocolate,

Its Sunday tomorrow

Zombies don’t scare me

Its hot in here

Tequila really is rocket fuel

I believe that a cold budweiser soothes a sore throat, and a warm whiskey cures toothache

I talk and think about myself too much

Insomnia seems to have reared it’s ugly head again

As has boredom

I love Monopoly

I need shoes

The internet is filled with so much crap. I guess it was always destined to happen when someone figured out that they could make money from it. I’m bored. I keep thinking “I know, I can do…” and then stop because I remember I have no inclination of actually doing what I could do.

Purchases

So the only way I could get past my depression of paying for my speeding fine was by spending yet more money on games. Yes, Granny Turismo 4 and Metal Gardener Solid 3 are on the way to my house as I write this…

Hmm, Granny Turismo and Metal Gardener Solid.. That’s given me an idea.

Cya later

I’m not even sure which saint it is that guards the pearly gates of heaven. That’s how little I actually intend on going to heaven. I think it’s Saint Peter… Although it could be Saint Kirk. Maybe Saint Lee…

Either way, I wonder what I’ll say to him…

“Ahhh Chris Jones, apparently you died by saying ‘mind that bus, what bus? – splat’, glad to see you made it to the rosey age of 26 and a half”

“yes, I really should have remembered that buses are big and red and make the sound that is suspiciously like a bus”

“So my dear fellow, what did you do with the ultimate gift? in what way did you spend your time and what did you give to the world?” enquires saint whatshisname.

“Well, I set up an internet website where I generally bitched about things, I was a smarmy know it all sarcastic bastard with all the lovability of that sticky stuff down a drain…”

Saint Dooberywhatsit looks puzzled and then says “oh, well surely there is some merit, something you did once that gave to the world”

“Nope, not a single thing, I generally abused my ‘ultimate gift’ although calling that penis ultimate is pushing it a little bit – Either way, I generally abused it by chasing random females and drinking far too much”

*pulls on a lever* – “well, I’m afraid your names not on the list”

“suits me fucking fine… I can’t stand harps” says Chris

“bye bye, don’t land on a devils fork….”

I have a first class ticket to hell. It’s engraved, with gold leaf. Apparently I even get an inflight movie. (Probably something like Batman Returns)

Sayonara

I don’t know how, but I somehow managed to cut my neck with a razor blade. No, it wasn’t some silly attempt to commit suicide, I don’t even remember trying.

Abnormally low hairs on my neck aside, I really have no idea how the heck I managed to cut my collar bone.

Maybe I shaved with a bayonet and didn’t realise. Maybe all suicides are actually people shaving that aren’t really concentrating. “Ahhh bugger I’ve just cut my jugular” *spurt spurt*

I’m so half arsed at the moment. My lack of funds is really not funny this month. Damned holidays, I wish I’d actually thought about it before signing on the dotted line. – Oh well, at least I get a break, which I so sorely need at the moment. I just need to get away from everything and relax, primarily I need to break this wash-dry-cycle that I seem stuck in.

Boring, boring, boring….

The end.

I have just looked through my top referers list and found.. (count em’) 10 what I would deem “dodgy” websites.

Of course, I had to physically check each website in turn to see if the were actually linking to my website or just… well.. I dunno.. How the heck DID they get in my referrers list anyway?

I’m sure Al Gore never intended this as the ultimate use of the Internet when he invented it…………..

A retort I am still chuckling about…

(Same rather attractive girly as mentioned in the previous post)

Late at night..

I walk out of the toliets.

Girly I know is stood infront of me..

She says

“We gotta stop meeting like this…”

I reply

“Quit fucking following me then…”

God damn. I hate my brain. Why can’t I be nice when I’m drunk?

Ahhh Crunch periods. Got to love them. As someone once said, “I would prefer to fuck bread” – yes, okay so that someone was actually me.

Either way… I noticed a few things that are a bit strange lately.

1. Why do people put those little blue lights on their cars bonnet? I fail to understand. Is it to make your car look more like a police car in anothers rear view mirror and therefore, the driver infront will somehow be intimidated to drive more sensibly.

Yes, this idea might work. If the Police drove around in Citroen Saxo, it might work.. Genius.

2. I use lists a lot. Alphabetical, or maybe numerical, it makes no difference, I use them. A lot.

3. I rarely count how many points I have before saying “I’ve noticed a few things that are a bit strange lately”…

Anyway, I’m off to make another skin for what I class officially as the best game I’ve played this week. Live For Speed (Don’t let the pseudo EA alike name put ya off)

And so I now have the highwire task of driving within all rules and laws for the next 1.5 years.

What a fucking twat, yes folks, I got caught speeding in a 30mph zone (where I was doing the princely sum of 39mph) – What I should also mention is that the road we are talking about is about as much a 30mph road as I am likely to make it to the end of this month financially. It is completely in a desolate area (it doesn’t even have footpaths, or street lights).

What a total bastard, so while I was probably “keeping up with the flow of traffic” in this no-way-should-this-be-a-thirty road. I now have 3 shiney points on my licence. Apparently this happened on the 4th of Feb, I just hope I haven’t been snapped again since. (If that is the case, then I’m banned. Bugger)

What fantastic timing, as tomorrow, I have to have a clean drivers licence to get a courtesy car during my service. So now I have the added pressure of driving around, obeying the speed limit (no matter how much I’m being harrassed by the traffic behind me)

Fucking new driver probationary points, fuck off. If I was a 17 year old saxo driving chav then perhaps I understand it, but I’m a *respectable* law breaker. Oh well, I’m gonna be driving like Miss Daisy for the next year and a bit. Super.

Ya remember that funny little story of how my mother caught her “boyfriend” using the internet for… *ahem*… Adult entertainment? – remember how it was merely a harmless little quip where no-one really got hurt?

Well guess what. I was wrong. Yep, see. That’s my Phoneline that modem is plugged into. Hence, my phone bill.

The thing with dodgy websites out there is that they often have these things called “Diallers” attached to them that happily download to your machine with a few carefully placed miss-clicks – then these diallers phone out on a premium rate phone line.

My mothers “boyfriend” got one of these it seems. Of course my itemised phonebill tells me that this dialler made several particularly expensive phone calls.

96 pounds worth of expensive phone calls I might add.

So I phone up British Telecom to see if there is anything I can do about this problem. (Primarily to fix another problem that is so unspeakably confusing I won’t go into it now)

“Hi, I’d like to adjust my direct debit payments” I say to the very helpful woman on the end of the line.
“Certainly sir, let me just get your last bill…” she replies as my eyebrows sink together knowing what is coming next.
“It says that you owe us 108 pounds, most of which has been spent on premium rate phone numbers” she says with the ulterior motive of saying “and yes, I know you’re a pervert”

At this point I go into full on professional voice man mode. “ah yes, this is because my ‘parents’ use the internet and have managed to download some bloody dialler that connects to these premium rate numbers” I say…

Then I realise just how fucking absurd this all sounds. There is no way this complete stranger is going to be convinced that someone else other than the bill payer has done anything on this phone line. I close my eyes and begin to talk.

“I was just phoning up to fix my payment plan, not to dispute the bill” I say, sighing and accepting perv guilt.
The girl, (for she was obviously quite young with her giggly voice) let out a silent smile and said “Well, we can block these premium rate phone numbers for you sir?”

At this juncture, it’s obvious isn’t it. It sort of sounds like a question, but of course its not, is it?

“Yes, if you could block those numbers that would be great – I swear, parents should be banned from the internet” I say…
“Yes sir, I completely agree” she lies.

I thank her for all her help (and she was fantastically efficient and professional at all times – Who says SYH is all about slamming customer support lines?) and hang up. Having just paid for the bill out of my account directly.

Now the plan is – tell my mothers boyfriend that he owes me 106 quid when technically he only owes me 70ish (minus the phone line rental) and see if I can get away with it.

*eyes his hit counter happily*

Only 30 hits to go before I hit the big 10k.

Maybe it’s time for me to sum up this year in strange ways. Maybe I should analyse all the things that have affected me this life, this year.

Maybe I should think of something that really pisses me off and I should write about it, even though I have a) nothing original to say, and b) no real arguement.

Maybe I should recite some song lyrics for a meaningless song. Maybe I should recall a drinking story from when I was out pretending to be happy. Maybe I should just blabber on about anything.

You know what I hate?

Friends of Friends. I met a friend of a friend on Saturday night last week. “Hey Chris, so what are you doing on Christmas Eve?”
“Oh, I’m going out with X” (X also happens to be the person I’m talking to’s close friend)
“Oh, that’s funny, cos X didn’t mention it to me?”
“Erm, okay, well, I can invite ya out, do ya wanna come out on Christmas Eve?”
“Sure, Give me a ring”

Days pass and you think. “So why didn’t X want them there?” – and eventually decide to ask X why… And they say “no real reason” – which suddenly makes you think, “Should I invite this person, is that my duty? Or, because X is technically his friend, and I’m just an acquaintence, shouldn’t his friend be the invitee? considering this is his deal?”

I hate looking like the person who says I’ll do something and then seemingly not doing it because of some other contributing factor. I should be able to say “nah, fuck it, I’ll invite whoever I want, and organise anything I need to”

Maybe that should be my new years resolution? – Either way I’m pretty sure it doesn’t make much sense to anyone but me. I just needed to get it out there so it wasn’t doing circuit training in my brain.

Thanks for listening, I’ll possibly mention Christmas tomorrow.

I’m currently having a prolonged arguement with my google toolbar. It wants to be on the right hand side in the most useless place imaginable. Whereas, I was quite happy where it was. It’s proper place, underneth the address bar.

Perversely, Windows “Lock Toolbars” doesn’t do any such thing. It seems to lock them in completely stupid places.

Why doesn’t anything work like it is supposed to?

I can bet, I’ll close this window and the toolbar will either disappear, or just relocate to the right hand side again.

I’m suspicious that I’m actually infected with some sort of clever trojan thing because if I right click on my toolbars, I see two entries. 1. “Search Bar” and 2. “Google Toolbar” – hmm. now, wait a second, Why can’t I select Google Toolbar eh? Nope, it’s been disabled, as has my Yahoo! one (but then, I actually remember disabling that one)

Time to go get a virus scan me thinks. Fucksake.

Edit: 180 malwares found, Indeed. Ibis search bar.. Impersonates GoogleToolbar.. Fuckwits. Get rid of it using Ad-Aware

I hate buying Travel Insurance. It’s like the anti-lottery..

With the lottery, you think “Without a ticket, I won’t win… I need a ticket to be in with a chance of winning”

Whereas with travel insurance, you think “Without insurance, you can fucking bet I lose my luggage” – I love the cold, matter-of-fact style of the insurance documents. “If you die whilst on holiday, we’ll pay you £5m -” except I’ll be dead. [yeah yeah, like I'm the first person to point that out]

Spending money on something that you will never see. Spending money on something that (touch wood) you will never use. Spending money on something that is such a headache to actually claim on, that you’ll only do it if there are exceptional circumstances. Spending money on fresh air.

That’s the ultimate trick isn’t it? Selling fresh air.. Selling a piece of paper (my printer paper I might add) that says “I’ll pay you if something in your life goes wrong – given a set of extremely stringent rules” – If a man wanted to be rich, just identify a fear or paranoia and exploit it. Travel insurance is one such fear, “fear of the unknown”, “fear of airports”, “fear of losing your luggage, committing some random dooberry hick crime and ending up being bummed in a prison cell”.. All of which you buy a lottery ticket to avoid. All going well, you’ll never use it.

It’s like taking a parachute down a waterslide.

I currently have a little black window on my screen uploading all my important work-like files to the network… Only this is no ordinary copy, oh no, this is an Xcopy. Whilst Windows XP pro is probably an acceptable OS to most people, I can’t see how Microsoft can justify charging $150 for a piece of software where an Xcopy /s/d though their GUI is seemingly impossible.

Let alone that, but I want this .bat file to run at a specfic time of the day every single day… Why then do I have to write my own bloody program for that to work? (If anyone even suggests I use Microsofts Scheduler I’m going to come around to their house and make them eat my fist)

Sure, Microsoft XP allows you connect an Xbox through it and will automatically detect every piece of hardware on earth, but for some fucking unknown reason when doing a file copy, they never once thought of putting in a “No to all” option… They have “Yes to all” but never “No to all” – (if you’re someone who is wondering why on earth you’d ever need a “No to all” option, then you shouldn’t be here)

So once more I revert to good ol’ Dos. I hope that the day when Microsoft decide to ditch it, someone says “hold on, what about Xcopy?”

And what’s with the bloody X anyway? Since when did I have to use Xcopy to copy all sub directories? When did they decide to take that switch from Copy [/su].

I kind of miss the days where Dos prompts where the norm. I secretly love going around to someones house to fix a computer (because, apparently, “I work with computers, therefore I must be able to fix them”) – I love going around and poking with my overly fast mouse action, “hmmm’ing” and tutting like a Mechanic who’s just had a woman drive onto the forecourt in a VW Beetle.

“Oh dear oh dear oh dear” I say as I fuck around in a Dos prompt. You can almost hear the gasps of intense confusion as your victim watches you type the power command “Dir/W” – Watch them reel in horror when you do something really complicated like.. Oh I dunno..

“Type autoexec.bat | more”

Oh, what a power command.

It’s my firm belief that anyone who falls for this kind of sick-only-i’d-find-it-funny joke should put their PC back in it’s box and take it to whichever Mass market PC fucking superstore they bought it from with a post-it-note attached to their forehead with the words “I am too stupid and ignorant to operate a PC properly and therefore am no more qualified to use them than I am my VCR”

Do ya think you fall into that category? Good, type the following into a MSDOS prompt.

Copy Con Idiot.txt
“You are a fucking idiot” <press Ctrl + Z> <enter>
start idiot.txt

Thanks.

My home desktop died… (Motherboard)

My laptop died…(Hard disk)

My mothers PC that is so crap it probably came with a free toaster, died… (Power supply)

I have approximately five machines at home, each with a complete system in the beige case and not a single one of them works… I even dug out my old Pentium 133… Even that was buggered.. (Even though if I remember right it never really worked anyway)

I go through PC’s like they are going out of fashion, and now I feel like grumbling about it *grumble*

What also pissed me off on the storefront that is brokenPCworld, was unscrewing my laptop so that I could replace the hard disk and taking out each screw one at a time. I reckon there was about 45 screws in total (no, I’m not kidding)

So I drew this diagram of the underside of the laptop, and placed each screw where they came from on the laptop base… Very organised I thought.

I got to the final screw, suspiciously threaded and holding onto a little flap like thing… Plus, it was annoyingly small.. You know the type. The type where you need a Swiss clock maker’s screwdriver to even think about opening it.

Finally, I managed to unscrew it and the little flap popped up.

Hey presto, the hard disk fell out.

Fuck..

After another half an hour or so, I screwed all the little screws back in and wondered why, in the 106 page manual they hadn’t once noted “oh yeah, this is the hard disk bay, unscrew these two screws and the drive will literally fall out”…

Laying in bed wide awake, wondering when Mr Sandman is going to bring me a dream.

There’s nothing quite as annoying as late late late night television. On oneside was “Darkman II” which turned me off it in about thirty five seconds (as soon as the heads started being swapped around, I was gone)

The next channel was a film with Gerard Depardieu – instant turn over.

Channel 3 was a film with a suspicious amount of bad acting, crap hair cuts and the overall feeling that I’d spent some night long ago on the edge of consciousness avoiding it. So I avoided it once more and flicked the channel again.

Channel 4, normally the bastion of the crap late night television program. It didn’t disappoint again last night by showing the truly awful film, Jagged Edge.

I press the button again, knowing that the next channel will determine if I get a nights sleep or not.

Channel 5: Possibly my favourite terrestrial tv channel at the moment, and what was it airing? Late Night Poker.

Late night Poker as an insomnia cure…

For people that don’t play card games (that would be anyone who isn’t over weight; doesn’t feel the need to bling it with lots of gold; or wear shades indoors) cards can be a confusing collection of jingoistic words such as “flop, kicker, button, blinds, duce pair and knaves”.

Like anyone who doesn’t play cards (I count myself firmly as one of those people) – watching late night poker on Television is the *perfect* insomnia cure. The voice of poker, Jesse May gently soothes you to sleep with his late night “heh’heh’s” whenever someone folds on a duce seven. Only he can say “ooh, gotta play on two hooks, he’s not gonna call, OH, he’s called, hehe, watch him play with his stack now!” without a single hint of excitement in his voice.

Excellent, I slowly let my eyes close…

and then.. suddenly, out of nowhere like a particularly quiet steam train…

I start to understand the rules.

Suddenly, Late night Poker becomes the insomniacs worst nightmare (which they don’t have.. there’s a paradox for ya) – each hand brings actual excitement as the flop comes. Down the river.

Some mother fucker won $325,000 with a low straight last night. He had nothing before the turn, and then everything came right for him, he bet on nothing and got a low straight! Before last night, I wouldn’t know what a low straight was if it came up said “Hi, I’m a low straight” and then wandered off to a sign that said “Low Straights stand here for inspection by idiots that don’t know what a Low straight is please”.

And so, my efforts to fall asleep were scuppered, as I resigned to the fact that I was going to have to watch the rest of the show…

You know when you’re in trouble when you put your card in, Enter your pin, press an amount, and it says “insufficient funds” and returns your card.

After checking the balance, re-entering card and PIN. This time I asked for a receipt and the machine angerly spat it at me… “It must be able to read” I thought as I slowly turned the paper over and closed my eyes. The date burning a hole in my retinas.

The most distracting fact on a night out is that the money that you have in your pocket is the last money you have all month. Everything you spend now is taking away lunches for the following week.

Every drink I had last night was a Chicken and Chilli’s salad sandwich at lunch. Every time I went to the bar I was spending enough to buy three or four lower quality DVD’s (which I apparently have accrued quite a collection of recently)

And so the night limped on… after dancing with yet another OAP sweetheart I decided that I was in a bad mood. This bad mood was determined by a few contributing factors. A) I was in a shit place, with shit music and shitty people, and B) I really was drunk.

There’s this girl that I see very rarely (thankfully). She’s highly annoying, there’s just something about her that makes her able to press all my wrong buttons. Maybe it’s her superior attitude, maybe it’s her ability to be as miserable as fuck, maybe it’s her condescending smarmy arsed comments…

For an example of something that fucking irritates me, “Heya.. how are you.. what’s your name again?” – FUCK OFF, you know my name, because every time I ever meet you, I tell you that I don’t fucking like you. (Although probably using a few more letters) Somehow, I’d remember the name of someone who was so open in their hatred of me.

It’s like fake memory loss… “Learnt to drive yet?” she asks, as if it was ever a chink in my armour. “Yep – I passed first time”.. “See? What’s with your ego? – I didn’t ask how many attempts it took to pass” she says. Erm.. Excuse me? I was merely stating something interesting, translated into fucking annoying woman it could be said as such as a simple statement like “I love cakes”..

I replied with something that I admit was kinda egotistical, but then, I don’t really care. The buttons were pushed. “Which part of the night did I ever give you the impression that I wanted to talk to you? – I’m curious”.

She fell quiet for a while and then piped back up… Oh goodie. Round two.

“What was it again that you do Casper?” she asks.. Again with fake memory loss. I know it’s fake memory loss because I can remember the endless amusement that my job gives her. “I’m an assistant producer for a computer games company” I reply.

She giggles… I wait with my “what the fuck are you giggling at?” face on… “Oh, when are you going to get a real job?” she pipes… I smile.

How I’ve prepared for that “comment” over the years. I reply with this, “Seen as I don’t suffer from fake memory loss, I remember you work as a HR manager for some big company that I really don’t give a fuck about – you probably earn loads but secretly dream of a job where you’re inwardly happy. Hopefully one day you’ll realise that it’s all completely futile as you’re just a member of the faceless masses and step out infront of a bus with particularly poorly equipped brakes”

Again silence… I wonder if my clear dislike has yet sunk in…

“You know? You mention Death a lot Casper” she replies… Again, the fake niceness is dripping with an ulterior conversation. So I reply. “Yep, sadly one day I’m going to die – A lot of people have thought that it wouldn’t happen to them, just before it did” I raise my glass and look towards the sky. “Thank you shatner” I secretly word to the sky.

Much like a boxing match, the lights of the “pub” (I say Pub, although I’d probably be more accurately describing it by calling it an abattoir) flash signifying the end of the night. Fight over, time to go home.

I look for the door, go to another later-night night club and have my final chicken and chilli sandwich, get in a taxi, and go home.

(And then get a triple AAA on Outrun2 while my friends worship my skills… Who’d wanna be a HR manager eh?)

…and what do we have here…

Apparently absolutely nothing interesting happened this weekend. The sarcasim monster that is Chris returned. I drank a little too much, I didn’t eat enough and ya know what? I’m bored. I’m bored of it all.

I know this seems like a recurring theme but I really have nothing to say. Wow, there’s a way of making people stop reading.

I had another strange experience last night, as per usual I was drunk and feeling distinctly sarcastic. Talking to my friend, a girl said “hey, I know you don’t I?” to which I replied “yeah, but don’t tell anyone” – I’m through being nice and pleasent because it doesn’t really work. Back to being grumpy “what the fuck do you want?” bitch boy…

The ironic thing was, I think I actually did know her, it wasn’t some sort of crappy chatup line. Turns out that she worked with one of my friends and we had met months previously. Good memory…

Then she told me she fancied her boss, (who happens to be my mate) – strange is fate. Strange.

The other funny event last night was a good ol’ bit of heavyhanded brutality. Oh yes, nothing quite like a bar brawl with at least five or six *very* big guys kicking the shit out each other. Specially when the bouncers come in and really really really over do things. Glasses flying everywhere as I rolled my eyes and thought “where should I hide now?” – One guy was being pinned down on his knees by a bouncer, while another bouncer kicked him in the nuts. Nothing particularly funny about this, but when you heard the “Ooooooo” from everyone around as they crossed their legs, it was a slight comedy moment.

Hey, if you can’t laugh at violence? what fun is there left in the world?

I have a bag of Revels sat in front of me. On the upper-right end of the packet is the slogan “new sweet!” with it’s over bearingly optimistic exclaimation mark staring at me.

I’m a Revel fan, I think they represent a deep spiritual connection with real life. You see, every day is like a Revel, sometimes you get a nice orange one, sometimes your day is a stinker like the coffee ones. Some days don’t go away much like the toffee one, some days you could have sworn you’ve lived before some place else – Malteser, and some days are just flat – plain ol’ chocolate.

So what’s this new sweet? I’m curious. I have eaten so many Revels in my life that I can tell you what they contain before you put them in your mouth, with a 100% accuracy. (I rank it on my list of “most useless talents” right next to being able to spot quotes from Red Dwarf)

I just opened the bag and I’m going to be a General Whining Bitch for the duration that it takes me to find the new sweet…

First one. Orange. Of course I knew that before I took a bite.

Last night was such a waste of my life. More and more I’m beginning to hate getting drunk, I’m beginning to hate the need to go out, stand with my mates in a room of people I don’t like and drink too much alcohol. Maybe I’m deluded when I conclude that there must be more to life than this.

I’m guessing Coconut – Years ago, Revels used to have coconut ones in them – till the evil spawn that is bounty came along and probably locked up the coconut confectionary corner of the market. Bastards.

Malteser, typical. For some reason Maltesers give me a sore throat, I can’t eat a whole 99p bag without crying with agony after the “bubbly soft insides” have ripped the bacteria off my throat. I think Maltesers should carry a warning on the side of them “May fuck your life up royally – all for 99p”

Next? Oh, another Orange. After that a Flat one – What can be said about flat ones? I think the flat one is a Minstrel missing it’s sugar coated shell. – I can only imagine the number of lost none-English people reading this now “what the fuck is a Revel?” they say in their strange accents. – Usually at this juncture I’d waste another few precious seconds of my life and explain what a Revel is to someone who a) doesn’t care, and b) will probably never see a Revel – let alone understand the horridness of coffee.

I got my Mexico photo’s back, much like the picture of my foot can attest. Photo’s depress me for two reasons. – Toffee – they depress me because they remind me of two things, firstly how holidays are great, and bring the better side of me out, the sun and the sand and how I usually long to relax. And then there is the fact that pictures remind me how fucking ugly I am. God, no wonder I dodge photo’s. – There was a point in Mexico where some American was pointing a camera in everyones face and saying “You enjoying Mexico dude? yeah!” and I remember even ducking that camera. That’s how much I hate them – Bastard, Toffee. Then a seriously deformed orange one.

If I was to program my life at the moment it would look like this.


Do
 If Weekday Then
  Work
   If Hour > 12 and Hour < 14 then Play Call of Duty
 Else
  Select Case WeekendDay
  Case "Friday": Do_GetDrunk("With Friends In Empty nightclubs")
  Case "Saturday": Do_GetDrunk("With Friends In Wank nightclubs")
  Case Else: Do_Recovery("Sunday")
 End If
Loop Until Dead


God damn it. Is every fucking Revel a Toffee or an Orange nowadays? - Guess what? I still haven't found a new version of the sweets. Boy when they exclaimed "New Sweet!" They really did mean it in the singular sense didn't they? Maybe my bag is defective. Maybe there aren't any new ones. Maybe this is someone at Masterfoods UK is having a laugh at our expense. "This is gonna sell a shit load of revels, trust me. Just say there is a new one, and then watch as the money rolls in"

Wankers. I bet they've done that too. I should complain to trading standards, because you know, Complaining to trading standards about the lack of a new revel in my bag of revels is about as complex and interesting as my life gets around now.

I'm ploughing through the revels now, Toffee after Flat one after orange, they all fly through my mouth like they have a purpose. "Digest people, we don't got all day" yells the toffee one sthat is stuck to my teeth at the side of my mouth.

Like confectionary paratroopers, two maltesers bail down my throat, I think their parachutes opened, (causing me no end of pain to boot)

And so, we're down to my last two Revels, I've endured Coffee, Wondered where the peanut ones have gone, and now I have two shapes infront of me that I don't recognise... Two strange, deformed shapes.

Here goes... And the new Revel type is....

Raisin.

And there we go, the Revels=Life analogy is finished. Much like real life, it invariably ends up being a little disappointing. Bye.

Okay, the second lesson I learnt today is that cars don’t drive very well if you don’t release the handbrake.

The first, and I feel, much more important lesson is – I’m bored.

I watched a film about the theoretical idea of the USS Nimitz going through a time-warp and ending up in the ocean about a day before the battle of Pearl Harbour.

Yankees really are touchy about that subject aren’t they? – Oh that’s right, it’s cos they got whipped. Big time. – So in true hollywood style, lets reinvent history and merely say “yeah, but.. if we had an aircraft carrier from fourty years after the battle, we’d have won”

- no shit? – that’s like saying “We could have won world war three if we had that spaceship Zorb the destroyer brought to earth on 230401ad…”

I mean, come on! What does this story prove? Nothing, but you’re bitter about a battle where you got spanked… Maybe it was a tale to demonstrate how much the american’s have moved on technology wise since that era. How the war progressed them, where as the japanese are no longer as technologically advanced.. Hmm, I wonder why. Oh that’s right, It could have been that 4000kg atomic bomb they dropped on them..

The movie was called “the final countdown” by the way, and it was made in 1979, Yep, a year after I was born. It amused me to watch the frankly crap “time warp” special effects… I mean, where did this natural phenomenon come from? it was a bloody swirly effect in the sky.. And why did it decide to pick that exact date to warp this aircraft carrier back to? Why not last Thursday? But nooo, it had to warp it back to [possibly] one of the most significant dates in modern history.

One thing science fiction has taught us is that sometimes things don’t need to be explained.. I mean, take “the cube” for an example. Possibly one of the most mind-bendingly odd films there is.. Explaination? Nah fuck that… and the film stands up for it.

So why, instead of using super-whirly-vision, did the film not start back in 1945 with no real explaination of how this ship got there? that’d be called a hook..

Speaking of films with no real explaination. I had successfully dodged watching kill bill since it has been released, I’m a tarantino fan. (No, way before he became “cool”) and I had to admit that I was watching Kill Bill rather drunk… Which, as anyone who has seen the film will atest, is not the best way to watch the film, mainly because it’s a headfuck of large proportions.

I hate watching films drunk, but as the film progressed, I was beginning to wonder if my enjoyment of the film stemmed from the fact that I was drunk. It is just so cool.

I once heard that at a house party with a projection screen on one wall, someone put on kill bill, and the music was stopped, and the entire party stood in silence watching the film. I think that is a testiment to how cool it is.. It’s cooler than the disco ponce that letches at house parties, it’s better than the category L) “last chance trendy” doing his “i’m not with my girlfriend” routine. It’s better than burnt sausages. It’s better than house parties with your boring friends.

Oh yes. Buy this and your life will be much richer for it.

And so comes to an end another post on ScrewYouHippy…

P.s. Mini bitch – When will the BBC stop using Rob Dougan and Craig Armstrong’s music on *every* Tv show they do? It’s pissing me off. It’s fantastic music, yes, but using it on your second rate crappy police dramas isn’t a sure fire way of making it dramatic. It’s not original any more. Quit it… Wankers…

God damn, did it have to be a long weekend this weekend? Couldn’t they have delayed it a little? Perhaps making it next week instead? But noooo, they had to go and make it this fucking weekend didn’t they?

I wish I was writing this with my usual hangover, complaining about stupid events of the night before, and generally whining like a little whiny bitch*. However, sadly, last night wasn’t even that good. I ended up back at home at 12pm, that’s how crappy it was…

Company aside, there was nothing memorable or notable about the entire night. The valuable lesson I learnt is other people are boring, drinks are too expensive, and tequila really does get me drunk.

So what about this weekend? Well, the problem I have is that it’s the end of August, and what happens at the end of August? (except random olympic events) – yes thats right, everyone goes on holiday. In total five of my friends are away on holiday at the moment. Five!, Fucksake, I wouldn’t mind but I don’t have that many friends, let alone allowing five of them to go on holiday without me. Bastards.

Las Vegas, Canada, Portugal, Cuba – and where am I on this long weekend? Yep, at home, bitching like a whiny bitch*.

My plans for this weekend now revolve around watching a crap load of television, generally not getting dressed, and probably trying in vain to get my Xbox working again. I should really send it back to Microsoft, I wonder how they are on savegames with swear words in them.. I often save my games as “arseyfucknuts_1″ just because I can.

Tangently, I am in the process of formulating categories of people. I’m a strong believer in the personality category. So now I go around looking at people and thinking “you’re category B) nice but boring”, “you? Yeah you, You’re category C) shallow and dim”

I’m so far on my category list that I have to use some sort of new alphanumeric system, “AX) Look at me, look at me!” – It all started when I was on the train, I see these same four guys every morning, or as I lovingly call them, “The OAP Brady bunch”, then in Row 4 aisle seat we have “D) Desperately quiet mute girl”, and then over the way we have “EF) over enflated sense of self worth girl”, oh and who’s that over there? “GH) Probably thinks they are god boy”… Recently EF girl and GH boy have been getting on more and more.. It almost brings a tear to my eye when I see two gingers conversing. “Aww finally they have found acceptance” I think. Two gingers on a train talking, it’s like gingers anonymous. I hope they get married and have little ginger babies. (Presumably with EFGH) “fucking ginger” personality category)

Speaking of the OAP Brady bunch, they *every* morning sit in the same seats, and talk about IT concepts (thats Information Technology for the category C people out there) – The Brady bunch sit and pat each others ego’s lovingly, one talks about new web concepts – he’s the youngest one, Category L) “Last chance trendy” – he talks about Java and Flash, and imagineering, bullshit bingo, the usual deal.

The older one of them, a computer programmer for what I can evesdrop, comes from the days when a amp meter was a programming tool. “nothings the same as it used to be” he says as I casually place him in Category G) “why don’t you just kill yourself then?”

And what else can I waste your time with by writing? – Perhaps I could go on about my desperate need of something exciting to happen, or maybe I could bang on about the lonely, plodding, boring weekend I have planned. I perhaps I should just go and make an excel sheet of my categories…

If you can keep your balance when all about you are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can eat an entire pizza by yourself when all men chat to you, but can make allowance for potential kebabs too;
If you can wait for a taxi and not be tired by waiting,
Or lie about age, breast size, or status, don’t deal in lies,
Or by being hated, don’t give way to hating,
And yet, don’t look too hot, but for god sake don’t look ugly;

If you can dream of a hairdresser boyfriend, but not make his pay cheque your master;
If you can think using your two braincells, but not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Mr looker and Mr rich and treat those two imposters just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken, Twisted by slappers to make a trap for fools, or watch the things you gave your life, such as your hair straighteners, be broken, and stoop to pick them up while showing your g-string;

If you can make one heap of all your shoes,
and risk them on one bingo ticket
and lose, and start again with a shopping spree,
and never breath a word about your loss to the boyfriend or his credit card;

If you can force your boyfriends nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after you have gone,
and so hold on when there is not a bottle of gin in sight
and say “hold on” “I need to find some lambrini”

If you can talk with crowds and keep your clothes on,
or walk with kings – potentially stealing their money,
If neither foes nor loving friends can shut you up;
If all men count you on their bedpost, but none of them bought your bed;

if you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds of bitching done,
Yours is the Earth and everything that is in it.. (including Selfridges)
And which is more, you’re probably a girl in Warrington.

And so starts the Whining bitch category. This is where I whine away about stuff that is beyond my control anyway. I admit that nearly everything is beyond my control, and I admit that I bitch about nearly everything.

I don’t feel particularly witty or insightful today. I feel like a whore who hasn’t been paid.. I just want to bark at everyone. I think it’s PMT. (Sod it, I get to use that excuse too)

Warning: Steer clear