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Wednesday 10 November 2010

Oliver Twists town of bloody awesome.

Oliver Twist opens his windows as the morning breeze beats outside, the sun punches him in the face with a glare far removed from the soot ridden shag rug that we’re used to, with the occasional bursts of fleeting yellow, like a squatters arse above us as he periodically farts out sunny delight....so yeah, it’s a nice morning. This morning is a bastion of utter emotion tickling joy, in a world devoid of hopeless feebs and Jersey Shore. Oliver Twist looks outside and sees all manner of passerby and whimsical salesperson, and then BAM, they all start dancing, not as if some hilariously inappropriate coincidence, but a full on Broadway chorus with impressive simultaneous choreography as if such giddy moves are a natural part of everybody’s DNA; as opposed to the image of an ironic dictator forcing the populous to perform these routines vigorously at gunpoint...that’s a tad bleak for Oliver Twist’s BLOODY AWESOME MORNING. But amongst this saccharine drenched cascade there’s presumably one solitary individual who stands taken aback, shrugging their shoulders as they walk awkwardly past and muttering to themselves ‘Shutup...shutup...shutup’.

"Shut your goddamn mouths you whimsical shits"



That bedraggled ‘fish-out-of-water’ of ineptitude is usually me when I’m out.
I’m not saying that any town I’m in is a whimsical carousal of sugar-coated fun, but it may aswell be when I’m there.
This general dislike isn’t based on anything other than my own beleaguered awkwardness, which I’m sure quite a few people get, the sort of feeling you get around large groups of people that deflate your self esteem and give you the demeanour of a tight-lipped serial killer amongst a crowd or a midget at a stilt convention.
Perhaps it’s to do with own awkwardness around people, put me in a room full of folks and I’ll become some awful guffawing ‘aw-shucks’ bullshit ‘class clown’, all the while wanting to punch myself in the face. I hate the term class clown; it often denies some ‘zany’ prick that won’t shut his mouth and farts loudly before blaming somebody else to chorus of idiotic applause. But as is my personality, I’ll automatically put on a completely different front because I’m ‘delightfully befuddled and as self criticising as any neurotic Woody Allen character.’...urgh. CHARMING STUFF INNIT?
Anyway, yeah back to town. I was about 4 minutes off the bus when I saw a man that can only be described by the term ‘brick shithouse’, he must have been as wide as a garden shed and as tall as one of the smaller idols of an Egyptian god. Alongside him, off a leash was perhaps the largest dog I’ll ever see, it was essentially an Alsatian bred with a bloody panzer tank, it’s teeth were the size of dinner plates and I’m pretty sure it had a small boy wedged between its mouth. But somehow, nobody apart from me found this as slightly out of place, everybody took it in stride as if this was a swords-and-sandals Schwarzenegger movie.

It was also October the 30th yet I saw plenty of people dressed in Halloween costumes, when did this happen? When did we start celebrating an event the day before, thus ruining the actual ‘specialness’ of the day due to our own impatience? As I was queuing in McDonalds (It’s as if somebody constructed a building out of a nervous breakdown and seething hate) somebody came up behind me dressed as a vampire and proceeded to be a complete and utter tit in the queue; odd, I don’t recall McDonalds ever selling pints of blood or fair haired virgins. Something that got my attention though, was when McCount Dracula lamented to his friend‘I wish it was Halloween everyday!’ which, ignoring what a logistical nightmare it would be, opened up plenty of bloody amusing scenarios in my head whilst I queued. Imagine David Cameron addressing the nation as Worzel Gummidge or JFK getting shot whilst dressed as the ham-burgler by a ‘Charlie Brown’ attired Lee Harvey Oswald, it’d certainly make crime-watch far more unintentionally hilarious than it already is, no mean feat.

"Let's take the open roof today Jackie"

Speaking of Halloween, the cash point I needed to use was surrounding by a group of awful 14 year olds as, presumably, one of them had got their first debit card and they were apparently so ‘like totally stoked man’. They cordoned it off for about 5 minutes wailing and flailing their arms like some pre-pubescent un-dead horde fighting over the entrails of some poor bastard. It’s a tad depressing though to see their exuberance over this; unaware of the incredibly stressful emotional synapses that will break and tear in later years due to the very thing they were so excited over, money. This of course made me chuckle.
To be honest I don’t know where this rant’s going, I’m probably like one of those crotchety old men who yell at pigeons for no discernable reason other than the fact they exist. So yeah, town makes me awkward, people make me awkward, and any activities that don’t involve breathing out of my nostrils make me awkward. And to be honest there’s a small part of me that thinks everybody else feels the same, everybody and their horrifyingly large dog.
Why are you even reading this? It’s a lovely day go outside.

Monday 6 September 2010

Ryu's day off 'to-do' list




  • Wake up in clothing from past 4 days. Only change clothes if player presses X or Y.
  • Make a sandwich. Try to enjoy sandwich but become weighed down by the crushing knowledge that my sandwich making skills just aren't good enough and I must push myself harder with regards to aforementioned sandwich making skill.
  • Delete insulting facebook messages from Sagat.
"You are a fag-TIGER!"
  • See Ken.
  • Begrudgingly agree to watch 'Dog the Bounty Hunter' with Ken
  • Constantly refuse to high five Ken during 'Dog the Bounty Hunter'
  • Be bemused at why 'Dog' simply does not shroyuken these criminals.
  • Yell "DOWN, DOWN-FORWARD, FORWARD PUNCH" at fanboys in the street.
  • Try and swap theme music with Guile. (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jLJLyneZGKc)
  • Call Dhalsim 'Stretch Armstrong' on forums. Feel pride at such an original insult, then proceed to make jokes about him giving people 'strangers'.
  • Remind self that Sakura is 16.
  • Pilgrimage around Japanese mountains, harnessing power and chi from nature in order to forward my own inner peace and self preservation.
  • Continue not wearing shoes.

Saturday 4 September 2010

I did this about 3 years ago..

...Discuss..



It took a good hour...

Tuesday 17 August 2010

Underwhelming Movie death.


This might be a regular feature, I don't know.
I watch a lot of films and I'm easily enraged in a pedantic lonely manner so I guess this could work.

ANYWAY, I was watching Mission Impossible 3 a while back and one of the characters died such an UNDERWHELMING DEATH (*Sitcom audience cheer*) That I felt compelled to complain in a blog to about 4 people, I'll explain why, also there's spoilers here...so..you know...either watch the film or wikipedia it if you don't want to be a pithy whine.


Anyhoo, the character in question is the main antagonist is Owen Davian played by award-vacuum walrus in a sock looking Philip Seymour Hoffman.

"AROOOOOOO..I'd like to thank the Academy"

Now Owen Davian, apart from having a name like the..'questionable' member of a boyband, is an effective, well played character and in all accounts an unquestionable dick. He kills Ethan Hunt's protege, kidnaps his fiancee and threatens to kill her, and at some point probably finds the time to illegally download episodes of 'Shot of Love with Tila Tequila'

ANYWAY, the death itself. Right, so we've had 2 hours of Davian being a collosal arsehole and he finds himself in a fist fight with Hunt. Also worth a mention is that Hunt has had a bomb detonate in his brain that means he is writhing with agony at a blinding noise of intangible pain.


Kind of like listening to Poison...

Anyway, Davian and Hunt find themselves scrambling awkwardly throughout a Chinese street, with Hunt managing to hold his own and still kick ass, but it looks like Davian has the upper hand and Hunt needs to come up with something, anything to make it out alive, so what does he do?!




.....Bugger all. Absolutely nothing, because Davian gets hit by a car whilst Hunt rolls out the way.
A car.
He gets hit by a car.
No luck or skill or Action hero-esque smarts involved, just shit perception to acknowledge incoming traffic.
Needless to say, WHAT THE HELL. I just spent 2 hours seeing this guy carving his own tombstone for one hell of a brutal and well deserved send off, and what do I get? A bloody PSA, a sodding short minute film they show in assemblies so kids look both ways before skipping into traffic.
I demanded more, I needed some sort of send off that Davian deserved, a gunshot and a witty quip, an ironic death, or maybe even Hunt nailing Davian to a chair and making him watch 'Cocktail' till his blood ejected itself through every available orifice like a punctured sewer pipe.


"Where's the plot?! OH GOD WHERE'S THE PLOT?!

So, to alleviate some amount of lonely, LONELY rage I have, I have written an alternate and probably far more awesome send off.

We see Hunt and Davian in an abandoned factory, Davian has Hunt at gunpoint and is edging towards him.

Davian: It's over Hunt, looks like you won't be killing anybody today...except those henchmen of mine, and your friend who was a mole in the government...ok, as from this moment onwards, you won't be killing anybody today..because you'll be dead. By me. They should never send a boy to do a man's mission....IMPOSSIBLE THREE!.

All hope appears lost, but Hunt spies something in the corner of his eye and begins to laugh.
Davian: What's so funny Hunt?
Hunt: You don't know?
Davian: Know what..?
Hunt: Oh, I thought that you XEE-KNEW!

Hunt pulls out a copy of Dianetics from under his shirt and tosses it at a metal container above Davian, releasing the angry thetans from millions of years prior who ensnare Davian and drag him upwards towards a celestial ship that has appeared as he screams in fury, yet his logic and scientific reasoning do nothing as he is pulled inwards and all is quiet.

Hunt: Looks like that wasn't Impossible....MISSION IMPOSSIBLE......THREE!

*80s freeze frame as the credits roll over 'Pour some Sugar on me'*


So...far superior right? I eagerly await Hollywood's embrace.
Also generic Scientology jokes never get old.

Tuesday 27 April 2010

Superprickery

“What do you call a Geordie superhero?”
Silence and anticipation loomed, the reveal taking as much time as it needed to unveil itself.
“Why-Aye Man”
BAM! Laughter, raucous, life affirming delicious, nutritious vitamin filled laughter flooded the auditorium. Two thousand voices joined together in a delightful harmony that’d make even the Bee-gees think about packing it in.
Wade Whitman was a comedian; he’d been one of the greatest comedians in the world for the past decade, just behind George Bush and tonight demonstrated why. His dry British wit, insightful musings and ability to make people chuckle to no end was something he’d most been proud of in life and it created one hullaballoo of a show and the atmosphere was electric; no seriously, literally electric, there were a lot of faulty wiring problems...quite dangerous actually.
BAM ANOTHER JOKE!
BAM! BAM BAM! He didn’t relent with the torrent of humour.
“Doves mate for life....must take a while”
LAUGHTER! BAM! WHAM! ZAMBOOZLE! This was one hell of a show and numerous subjects were touched upon, as Wade bobbed and weaved into various areas.
“I think the only chances of me getting married are if I have my wife shipped from overseas, and learn English from a crude cassette tape. No seriously folks, I’ve been single for so long even my right hand’s stopped talking to me”
Self deprecation always seemed to hit home, and Wade absolutely nailed it, like a lovable tramp musing on his failures in life.
Wade was about to go onto his routine about obesity, something that’d been hugely successful the previous shows this tour before suddenly becoming deadly silent. He could sense something wasn’t right, and it was unrelated to the itch at the top of his thighs, that was just generally awkward.
The floor began to shake aggressively, lights spasm-d on and off and the very floor itself began to crack and strain and towards the middle of the auditorium the floor rose between the aisles, it pushed upwards like that chestburster scene off Alien, except with concrete and carpet replacing skin and Sigourney Weaver. A hand punched through the floor and dragged part of it down as it pulled up the body attached to it, this most certainly wasn’t part of the show, but Wade knew what was coming, he had suspected as much this would happen.
The figure that had rudely interrupted Wade’s show pulled itself from the crater that now lay in the auditorium; he was a tall lanky figure wearing what only could be described as brightly coloured red rags and blue, like a rainbow crossed with a homeless person. He had a beard clung to his face with all the strength and determination of a midget at a urinal whilst he had eyes that were gateway to sheer unbridled hatred and evil, like a window at the Rooney household.
He rose fully, broadened his shoulders and pointed at Wade.
“Well Sarcasm-man, sorry to DROP IN!” He hissed with a generic ‘prickish’ voice.
Wade hesitated for a few seconds, a flurry of expressions running across his face, anger, frustration, puzzlement, deep thought, basically everything but arousal really. He then rose the microphone to his mouth and grinned.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, my arch nemesis...the comedic Terrorist.”
Silence as members of the audience began to wonder if this was part of the act, Wade began to talk, as if delivering a comedic monologue.
“Yes, It is correct, I AM the superhero known as sarcasm man, for all 6 of you in the audience who still don’t know this. The comedic-head terrorist over here is my arch nemesis, also kudos for messing up the intro pun there fella, his powers involve being a general unfunny prick who can do supervillain-esque stuff. Also as demonstrated when he entered, he isn’t funny, at all... In the slightest.”
The comedic terrorist advanced forward and raised his fist.
“After constantly being foiled by you Sarcasm man, I have finally resolved to my most cunning plan yet. To humiliate you...in front of a paying audience!” His laugh roared, full of malice and hate.
Wade raised an eyebrow.
“How...do you plan on doing this?”
“By having a JOKE OFF of course!”
Wade fell to his knees and imitated shooting himself, he banged the microphone against his head and muttered to himself.
“Oh sweet holy hell.....really? REALLY?! I mean seriously? This isn’t an 8 mile rap battle; I will actually physically decimate you. You’re the Nazis and I’m the Russians here pal. I’ve got more lines than Pete Doherty’s coffee table”
The comedic terrorist launched himself into the air and levitated above the terrified, yet oddly intrigued audience members.
“You’re scared. You know I’ll win SarGAYsm man. You suck at most things, you fail at comedy and women hate you!”
Wade leapt to his feet, visibly agitated.
“HEY! Like Me in relation to those women, that was not called for. Fine...go nuts, whatever”
The Comedic Terrorist descended to the ground and leapt onto the stage opposite Wade, he spread his feet and thrust his finger at Wade.
“Your mother...is so fat, that it’s a serious health risk to her!”
Quiet silence, no response, even tumbleweeds would feel ashamed to drift aimlessly in this awkward silence.
Wade rolled his eyes.
“Your mother is so fat, she fell down the stairs and I thought Eastenders had finished”
The crowd roared hard. Even the fear of a subpar super villain holding them hostage was overwhelmed by that zinger.
This back and forth continued relentlessly for a good...oh 15 minutes, Wade getting the upper hand over every single joke Comedic Terrorist could muster up.
“You suck so hard, that things stick to you easily” The Comedic Terrorist spat out, still revelling in the applause he imagined in his head.
“Just give up seriously, you’ll never be half the man your mother is” Wade sighed.
The crowd hollered and hooted and all manner of verbs Dr Seuss probably used, the comedic terrorist looked around exasperated, he realised he could never win this and did the only thing he could logically think of, burn the crap out of things.
He raised his arms and screamed, shards of flame sprang out of his finger tips and sped towards Wade. Would he be able to escape them in time?!?!....
....Yes, obviously....he’s a superhero.
Wade dashed out of the way and the flames simply hit an usher, no problem there. Not the artist called Usher...although he had a song called burn, so that’d be kind of ironic wouldn’t it?
ANYWAY, Wade was now in Sarcasm-man mode and strode towards the comedic terrorist and pulled his arm back.
“Here’s the punchline”
His hand connected with the comedic terrorists jaw with the sort of strength and violence only reserved for ex wives of OJ Simpson, resulting in him speeding upwards and crashing through the roof, until he resembled a small blip in the sky.
Wade sighed and silence ensued for a few seconds before he grinned and turned to the audience, he raised the microphone.
“Well, I’ve had some heckles in my time...”

Sunday 4 April 2010

Nania part 2

The elderly welcoming party beamed at Eric and Shawn as they walked towards them, one of the taller women began ruffling Eric’s hair, dishevelling it further. What a fun word, Dishevel, in fact we hardly ever use ‘sheveled’, just think about that. Eric snapped and batted her away
“Stop your irritating politeness! We’re not children, we’re adults, albeit with the mindset of somebody suffering middle age”
The smallest woman spoke.
“Are you two just visiting then?” She sighed
Shawn hesitated “....Yeeeeeeeees”
“Oh never mind, fine go about your business. We were expecting meals on wheels or a visit from our relatives” She rolled her eyes, specifically at Eric for some reason.
“That seems kind of redundant, what with you living in a different world accessed through cheap badly made furniture. Surely it’d be easier to at least establish some sort of reliable transport system between the two worlds” Eric’s suggestion of a cohesive inter-dimensional travel seemed far too high brow for such a simple parody. One of the elderly men grabbed his braces and raised his eyebrows.
“Well we tried that, but we didn’t trust them foreign builders, and getting English workers is mighty hard I tell you”
“You’re mighty hard” Shawn spat out
“Excuse me young man?”
“Sorry, knee jerk reaction. You were saying?”
An awkward silence crept over the conversation as both parties stared at each for a very uncomfortable amount of time, almost uncomfortable as this excessive ellipse use I will now use..............................
.......
The smallest woman broke the silence, like she’d kung fu chopped it, or something funnier than that.
“So are you boys courting?”
Eric raised his eyebrow, bemused.
“Pardon?”
“Are you boys dating?”
Eric once again raised his eyebrow.
“Like...each other?”
“No, no do you two boys have any women in your life?” She probed
Shawn responded with a nod.
“Yeah I’ve got a girlfriend, Eric doesn’t.”
The elderly woman took a step back and became defensive.
“You’re not one of them...queers are you?”
Eric was obviously pissed off, some old midget woman had accused him of being gay, and he would not tolerate this!
“Dear Zeus no I’m not, and you don’t even know me old woman, ok so step off. I have no qualms with beating a woman in public. I will literally murder your face off”
One of the old men spoke “What about the pub?” And was promptly ignored.
Shawn turned to Eric with a look of disdain.
“Did you just say ‘step off’? Wow. Not even Ice-T says that...”
The old man spoke once again ‘I’d like some Iced Tea” and was once again promptly ignored.
The elderly woman seemed to ignore this threat and laughed to herself.
“Well, we’ll leave you two boys to get your bearings. We’re just a in a small village beyond those trees over there, you should see a sign that says ‘no solicitors’, that’s us. To the west of us is the Co-op in the great mines, and over there is the black tower.” She pointed to a shape in the distance, a large space black obelisk that stabbed the winter sky, a contrast to the white vegetation that lay scattered about. “The black tower is where the enemy of the elderly lives, and we urge you to avoid it, like we avoid having any respect for those younger than us. And with that we must depart, Bergerac starts in 20 minutes and we’d hate to miss it”
And on that unsurprising note the elderly group shuffled back through the forest towards their village on the other side, leaving Eric and Shawn alone in the snowy clearing.



“We have to go to that dark tower” Shawn exclaimed
“Why? The old midgets said it’s inhabited by the enemy of the elderly” Eric replied...replyingly.
Shawn beamed, “And you know what that is?”
Eric paused for a second, stroked his chin and then raised his hand.
“...Harold Shipman?”
“No! Rock and roll! Although that was kind of close, oddly enough”
“I think I’m gonna head back home” Eric stated.
“BUH?! Why? Why why?”
“Because I’m not about to wander some fantasy-esque winter woodland to a dark tower on the spur of the moment, I am cold dammit! If I go back then at least I can come prepared with like...a coat and a thermos next time.”
Shawn sighed and pointed an accusing finger at Eric, like a cheesy cop movie.
“You know, it’s no wonder you’re awkward and boring and single. You refuse to have any ounce of fun or even live a little.”
“That is not true, I was perfectly having fun eating my tuna sandwich and watching Dawn of the Dead!” Eric yelled, his voice soaring above the snow drenched trees like a runaway weather balloon containing an American boy, only he wasn’t in there all along. I can’t even believe it was news, so what if some stupid American child was trapped on a weather balloon, ok, that’s called natural selection. Anyway yeah, Eric was pissed off...and stuff.
“Eric come on, stop being lame. Maybe if you started taking risks you wouldn’t be so unattractive to women”
“That’s uncalled for, come on”
“It’s true. Hell, you spend so much time in the friend zone you should buy a FUCKING VILLA THERE!”
Eric stared at his feet for a second, and looked up expressionless. He spoke quietly and without any anger
“You’re right, but that’s who I am, now I’m gonna head back. I’ll see you in a bit I guess”
He turned around and moped off back the way they had came from, Shawn opened his mouth but thought it was best to leave him be, he then began to make his way towards the dark tower in the distance.
After about 5 minutes Eric arrived at where the wardrobe was, and by ‘was’ I literally mean ‘WAS’, as it was no longer there. Eric hastily looked around, the footprints ended there so he was in the right place, but the wardrobe itself was nowhere to be found, like WMD’s in Iraq or humour in American Sitcoms. He ran his hands through his hair and groaned loudly.
“I’m never gonna be able to eat my fucking sandwich” He muttered before turning around to catch up with Shawn.

Sunday 28 February 2010

Nania part 1

A story based on a crude lulz idea of replacing NARNIA with NANIA, as in OLD PEOPLE. LOLOLROFLROFLLLLL.......enjoy.

Rain battered the windows as the few small candles punched through the inky black of the living room. A lone figure sat on a sofa, his face illuminated by the light of his laptop screen as he looked around the room and rolled his eyes.
“Sodding power cuts” Eric sighed whilst rolling his eyes
Thumping, banging, the footsteps of an excited child running downstairs to open presents on Christmas morning, but slightly more ominous, as if instead of being greeted by presents the child was instead greeted by a corpse...or Courtney love. The door was kicked open and a slightly twitchy individual leaped in and began waving his arms.
“ERIC! HOLY CRAP YOU WON’T BELIEVE IT!”
“AHH!” Eric gasped...but not like he was majorly shocked, kind of like he was...slightly bemused and taken back. Yeah, that.
“Shawn, what is it?”
“There’s no time to explain! You need-“ Shawn cut himself off and raised an eyebrow, pointing to the sight before him.
“What are you doing Eric?”
“I was about to watch Dawn of the Dead on my laptop...whilst eating a tuna sandwich”
Shawn shook his head and began counting on his hand.
“Ok firstly, Dawn of the dead is a 2 hour movie, that sandwhich won’t last the entire movie. Secondly you are 22 years old on and sat by yourself on a Saturday night. Thirdly, You simply need to come with me upstairs”
Eric rolled his eyes and sighed, this was the second time in a minute, this was not a good sign.
“Ok, firstly...you’re an idiot. Secondly, it’s Saturday and you’re running about like a...like a...Crystal Meth Chimp! And thirdly, and I stress this, WHY?”
“I don’t have the adjectives nor mind altering drugs to explain but it’s to do with the new wardrobe!”
“Oh dear god stay away from it! You destroyed the last one!”
“No I didn’t” Shawn was taken aback, and seemed shocked.
“You did! You put fireworks in it and blew it up!” Eric spat out
“No...no I didn’t”
“You did!” Eric rose and began stabbing his finger with each other word “You bought some fireworks. You put them the in the wardrobe for ‘storing’. And then it conveniently was set aflame two hours later!”
“Woah hooo there, easy. You asked me if I was going to blow it up and I said ‘no, no I am not’. Ok there’s my proof”
Eric had now moved on to waving his hands about, he was serious folks. SERIOUS, like those capital letters I just typed.
“You said that and then winked at me! And the next day you improvised a song all about blowing up wardrobes whilst eating breakfast!”
Shawn shrugged and put his hand on Eric’s shoulder.
“That’s all in the past, I got a new one anyway from that sinister market by IKEA. Just come upstairs ok, I need to show you this”
Eric sighed and rubbed his eyes.
“Fine...ok”

They began to walk upstairs to the room in which the wardrobe was kept, the room had other things in, but they’re not important enough to be described at all.
“Why didn’t you just go to IKEA?” Eric enquired
Shawn gave a passive shrug
“I don’t like the Swedes”.
They pushed the door open and Eric forced a candle in, illuminating the grand behemoth of a wardrobe that had taken residence at the back of the room. Crescents, twirls and all manner of shapes were carved into the front and the ornate gold handles were brighter than the fire which revealed them. Shawn stood in front of it and pulled it open, he turned back to Eric.
“Ok right, I was inside here like 5 minutes ago-“
Eric raised his eyebrows.
“Wait wait wait...so you assumed that the best time to venture into a wardrobe was during a power cut?”
Shawn’s eyes widened and he nodded his head sincerely.
“Yeah” he said with no sense of irony. “Anyway, I went in and it never ended, and I thought maybe that was the original design plan, but then I emerged in a snowy forest! I came back to tell you and also update my facebook status about it!
Third time’s a charm, Eric sighed and rolled his eyes.
“I don’t believe you. I honestly don’t at all. I mean seriously. Probably because you’ve used the word ‘emerged’, a word far removed from your usual lexis. Also because that is exactly the plot of The Lion The Witch and The Wardrobe”
Shawn got a bit irked.
“Eric, listen to me. This isn’t some stupid prank, I’m deadly serious, now get in here or I will punch you in the face; and then another time.”
HOME RUN! Eric sighed and BLA BLA BLA BLA, we get it, character traits and all that. He honestly couldn’t be bothered arguing so he figured he may as well go along with it, plus if he didn’t it’d be a pretty bland story wouldn’t it readers? Ooh I just addressed you all as ‘readers’, I feel just like The Beano.
They stepped into the wardrobe and took a step forward, nothing stopped them so they took some more into the black, like a subway tunnel. After a few seconds a light was almost visible, before suddenly widening as they walked some more. A chill suddenly pricked Eric’s arm and he felt snow crunch beneath him, they were in a forest, a snowy forest, the kind of forest you’d see in a 80s U2 video. Seriously, go YouTube ‘new year’s day’ to see for yourself, it will do far more than my pithy assortment of metaphors can.
“Well” Eric Began “I’m fucking shocked”
That was all that needed to be said. Shawn grinned and walked forward.
“Told you, come on let’s see what’s up ahead”
They sped forward through the snow, the trees shadowing them from the bright white sky, Eric stopped, there was a wooden sign in front of them, with letters in an old sophisticated font.
“What does it say?” asked Shawn
Eric peered at the sign, the font was almost unintelligible, as if written by a drunkard or Abu Hamza.
“It says ‘welcome to NANIA”
“Nania? Don’t you mean Narnia?”
“No...It says Nania; they probably changed it for copyright reasons. Also there’s writing underneath, it says ‘no cyclicists allowed’.
Sounds, voices even, in the distance. They became louder and louder, until a few figures suddenly emerged from the woods. Eric turned to Shawn
“Oh wow...they’re all-“
“Old people. OH!! I guess that explains NANIA, haha, that’s kind of clever if you think about it”
They were in fact all old people yes, wearing as many layers as possible, and being friendly yet highly suspicious of everybody. One of them walked forward, a small old lady, she spoke.
“Hello there you two, welcome to Nania”

Tuesday 16 February 2010

One is the loneliest number....but only because Two and Three are such dicks about it.

I wrote this a while ago and was sort of, holding back from posting it as some people may just view it as a dejected bitter rant hating anything to do with 'happiness and love'. It most certainly isn't, it's me standing up for people I know who are often trodden on and ignored, this is for you delightful folks.

Imagine if you had no arms or legs, no limbs whatsoever, you couldn’t help this; you were simply created that way, born into a sad little life where all you could contribute was being a makeshift coffee table or a poof. Are you in the mind of limbless potato person? Good, now imagine you often get wheeled out into town on the back of a wagon or something and you see all the bipedal limbed folk out dancing doing their daily routine, just jumping about and dancing and whatnot. This is obviously going to upset poor stump boy, no argument here. NO ARGUMENT I SAY! Now imagine if a lot of people go in front of stumpy boy (or stump woman, metaphors are not sexist here) and do various acrobatic manoeuvres right in front of his face, back flips, skipping, the conga, all with full knowledge of stumpy person’s sad lifestyle of being essentially a human paperweight. To me this is what public displays of affection are like if you’re awkward, introvert or a not as-cool-as-everybody-else-like-totally individual. You simply lay slack-jawed and shocked as these overt generic selfish bastardos gleefully flaunted their social status and general attractiveness with all the overt theatrics, genericism, and over the top ‘bullshit’ emotional attitude that modern society somehow deems acceptable and, depressingly enough, necessary. It’s apparently necessary to wear your love life and sexual status on your sleeve like some arrogant scarlet letter whilst declaring it to the world with all the vigour and ignorance of a religious zealot on the high street. And as stumpy you simply had to stand there and take it...well, sit there....lie there...STAY there. You simply have to take all this brash forwardness and almost spiteful behaviour, because if you were to be upset or annoyed and succumb to, EMOTIONS AND DAMN HUMANITY, you’ll be labelled as ‘depressing’ and ‘irritating’, all the while wanting to lash out and strangle these bastards. But you can’t because you’ve got no arms...freak stump boy you are.
This elongated smack to the face of a metaphor is essentially how I feel about public displays of affection, the bitter lonely curmudgeon I am. I’m not referring to hand-holding or the sort, I mean the full on acts that if done in public in the 16th century would probably have gotten you dismembered, I’ve been in groups of people where a couple have pretty much done all 4 bases and then go round for another game, (Urgh, crass terminology there I know) all whilst ignoring the awkward and quite offended reactions of their friends around them. People whose sentences usually consist of their love lives or feel that everybody in the immediate surrounding area needs to know all about their sex lives as if it’s information on par with John Lennon getting shot or a plague of mole people about to rise up and enslave humanity, with small pockets of human resistance fighting back these subterranean flea-riddled overlords. (But that’s enough about the south! HAHAHA! OH SNAP!!!! HAHAHA! FEEL MY PRIDE FOR MY GEOGRAPHICAL LOCATION!!....anyway).
I’m not against the whole notion of relationships and admiration, very much the opposite. What I am against is those who flaunt it like their some sort of fucking deity, making less-successful people feel quite bad about themselves, the sort of people who aren’t as confident or appealing as most fellows. I’m rooting for you, you hapless losers. (I’m allowed to say that). And why on earth do people get irate and tell these people to ‘stop being depressing’ ‘cheer up’ as if we’re a liability and only putting this on, that we have some instant joyous-switch like some melancholy robotic bastard child, I’ve noticed that some people aren’t helped when friends dismiss them or berate them for feeling lousy, this also probably isn’t helped by the fact a small minority of people flaunt their ‘happiness’ in their faces like completely ignorant fuckbuckets. The fact these people are content and satisfied is terrific, but no right to lord over those who aren’t as lucky or act better than them. Even Hitler had a girlfriend....I know that might work against me as well, but sod it, I like that insult.
There are also the folks who complain about stuff to people that hardly compare or are beyond ignorant, like going up to a crippled person and saying your legs itch. What’s that? You have to get up early on Valentine’s Day to spend the day together? Fuck off, I call Valentine’s Day ‘Thursday’, I think that shows who has the bigger right to complain here. Know what else is fun? Complaining about how much of a dickhead your ex was to somebody who has feelings for you, yet you won’t give them any chance whatsoever. Yeah that’s terrific for them isn’t it, tell them that somebody who you actually went out with was a complete utter fuckpot, it sure won’t make them feel in anyway depressed nor self loathing at how they’re apparently not as good as that. Whilst you’re there list the amount of guys you’ve ‘gotten with’ and lament the fact that ‘nice men’ are as hard to find as the holy fucking grail. I’ve never understood this myself, when I’m nice I come across as being a ‘friend’ whilst when I try to pull of this attractive confident dickhead routine I come across as...well a dickhead, no gimmicks here.

To me, being single for a very long time is almost like being Charlie in ‘Charlie in the Chocolate factory’, whilst everybody else lives in houses and with reasonable wealth, you’re stuck in some crammed turgid shack devoid of any hope and joy, instead replaced with general melancholy and mild racist ramblings from the legions of elderly cramped in one bed. I wondered why Charlie’s family didn’t simply kill the elderly relatives and consume them, I mean they obviously contributed nothing and spent all day confined to a bed, this would be a release from their depressing useless lives, and for a few months it’d stop the rest of the family living on a soup made of splinters, old beano issues and their own sweat and blood. But...that’s just me, which may explain my lack of relationships and BACK TO THIS ARTICLE! WOAH! SEE THAT?! Trippy right?! A total 360 there you shocked person you, fear my literary genius...
Anyway, in defence of all those hapless, shy, awkward individuals I say to the minority of you who I’ve spent the past 800 words ranting about (the rest of you are fine, have a collective high five or celebratory salsa) this.
We don’t care for a list of unusual places where you’ve had sex in a conversation where it serves no context whatsoever. We don’t care how you ‘love each other for life’ because you’ve simply confused it for lust towards the first individual to smother your mouth like a starving vampire. We don’t care for photos of you ‘getting off’ with your retard farmhand of a significant other. We don’t care if you haven’t seen each other for 29 hours. We don’t care if it’s your 5th month anniversary or any other fucking arbitrary date as if you’re the ‘rain man’ of relationship statistics. We don’t care for a list of why you love each other more than oxygen. We don’t care for you subtly asking us what we’re doing so you can reply with how amazing your day will be. We don’t care for you making a child when we’re trying to talk to you. We don’t care for the sheer contempt you may show on others. We don’t care for your numerous facebook albums that you parade in our face of you on the verge of fucking like lustful morons. We don’t care at all...seriously, but hey. What the fuck do I know right?

Wednesday 27 January 2010

Thursday 21 January 2010

Chocolate rain on your parade

PANIC! RUN FOR YOUR VERY LIVES! ROLL OUT THE CAPRET FOR THE FOUR HORSEMEN! It’s the pinnacle of existence and the world is teetering forward into the pitch black abyss of nigh annihilation and tortured despair! Whatever shall we- Wait? What? That’s it? That’s all that has happened? All this bother and fuss is over.....Cadbury being bought over? That’s it? A chocolate company has been bought by the second largest candy, food, and beverage Company in the world? Surely that’s...well good isn’t it? But no, for some reason patriotism has suddenly emerged in anybody who’s ever had a curly Wurly as if it were embodied by Richard the bloody Lion-heart.
I honestly don’t get what all this outrage is about, nobody is losing their job (Else Cadbury wouldn’t have accepted the offer you blithering idiots) and the food isn’t being removed, you’re still going to be able to gorge yourself and take away your lifespan with Dairy Milks and Bournevilles, you don’t buy one of the most successful companies in a country and discontinue everything that made it what it is, it’s pretty much the opposite of business management, along with exploding shoes and a sequel to ‘White Chicks’. If people would all take their head out of the collective arse and look at this for a second, they might see the shiny bewildering possibilities as a result of this. One being more food available, and as humans we should flock to this idea like delighted and whimsical folks. You know every time you go to America and come back, lecturing us with ‘how varied and amazing and cool and super mega awesome’ the food is, describing it like treasures beyond our primitive hut-dwelling, porridge eating society, almost as if you’ve discovered fire, if fire lowered your lifespan dramatically....even though it technically can...but that’s beyond the point. Kraft are going to use Cadbury as an outlet for their products that sell so highly throughout the rest of the world, I’m looking forward to seeing what new foodstuffs I can negligently stock up in case of a nuclear outbreak, forgoing spam and corned beef for whatever piques my pithy interest.
You know Oreos? Those biscuits that everybody faffs about with instead of simply eating (IT’S A BISCUIT NOT A DAMN RUBIX CUBE), guess who owns them?
Yes, it’s the harbingers of doom and despair, Kraft, what’s that? You enjoy Oreos and are ignorantly aware of the irony of you rallying against a company who bought you them?
I suspected as much, as I’m a poor man’s Poirot.

(This is not a bloody Puzzle Piece)

What seems to be possibly the main gripe here is that ‘CADBURYS IS BRITISH AND THEY IS TAKING US OVER!!’ which whilst being stupid is also stupid....not to mention stupid.
Nobody seems to give a toss when football teams such as Arsenal and Leeds are populated predominantly by players who aren’t even English, let alone able to speak the language properly or have a name I can pronounce. Nor do people care about driving Hyundais instead of Jaguars, Jeeps instead of land rovers or American Bikes instead of bloody penny farthings, whilst our culture is dominated by American TV, stars, news, and music. Christ, the Black eyed peas are on par to have had more number ones than Queen or The Rolling stones, well respected and renowned British musicians, where was all this fucking British Pride when these tedious talentless fartbags were invading the British shores?
Then there’s the Facebook group, the small rabble of resistance fighters against the totalitarian crushing regime of the Kraft Empire, like a culinary bloody Star Wars. As if Facebook has done anything for the world but make sex offenders do less exercise, there’s this blathering ‘OH BUT WE GOT WISPA BAAAACK!! WISPA!! WISPAAAA YARGH!!’.
Yes that may be true, but bear in mind this was an individual chocolate bar not a £11.5 billion economic takeover, they’re not going to care for this Facebook group as they clearly would have heard the remarks made when they ANNOUNCED they were going to try and buy Cadbury, these groups are just trying to close the barn door after horse has already bolted, changed his identity and murdered the farmer.
Pithy arguments and ironic logic isn’t going to stop this, and this isn’t some major catastrophe that it’s being painted out to be, this will IN NO WAY negatively affect your life in any way possible, unless you get off on saying ‘Cadbury’, in which case you can do that on your own...weirdo.
I’m usually a cynical person I know, but I honestly see no harm in this whatsoever, in fact it has more opportunities for new food and products being available, which in today’s society you assume would be a good thing. I have no problem saying ‘KRAFT’ and it’s not as if they’re going to change the names of food to over the top Americanised monikers, a dairy milk won’t become a ‘AWESOME BAR’, a boost a ‘EXPLOSION WE SAVE YOUR ASS IN WORLD WAR TWO SNACK’ nor will a curly wurly become a ‘FUCKING MORON IN OFFICE FOR 8 YEARS’. It’s not as if we always say ‘Cadbury’ before the word anyway, they’re well enough established to lose any gimmicks.
Hell, I’m sure life would be 6% more interesting if people asked for an ‘Explosion bar’ anyway.