Perfectly Innocent Addictions

Addiction is a strange thing. I'm not talking about dangerous alcohol or drug addictions of course (but yes, I do love to get pissed), but healthy (well, they aren't healthy at all actually...they just aren't necessarily deadly) addictions, be it food or activities. I don't know of the science behind addiction on any level at all, but I don't care. All I know is that some things can be damn addictive, and it can be damn good/bad. Where do I start then...? I feel a lengthy list coming on. Football manager, jaffa cakes, pizza, call of duty, bubblegum millions, salted peanuts, arguing, doritos, toffee popcorn, tetris, bejeweled, facebook, jelly babies, talking, the impossible quiz, relentless/red bull/kick, making nerd chat up lines (as somebody unfortunately found out first hand), cookies, nutella, buying cds, games and dvds, your mum jokes...there's loads, but when I think about it, I see no point in just listing all these things, so I'll cut it short. The more sharp minded of you (ie, not completely braindead), may have noticed that most of the items on the list are types of food. Well then, I'm a fat fucker, so that's that explained. If you were to hand me a mahoosive bowl filled with jaffa cakes, pizza, bubblegum millions, salted peanuts, doritos, toffee popcorn, jelly babies, cookies and nutella, you'd probably never hear a word from me again. So there's your top tip for today, folks. If you would like me to shut the hell up (an occurrence that is highly likely), your best bet is to be generous and offer me a bowl filled with the aforementioned unhealthy crap. Take note.

Pizza

Tell me, who doesn't like pizza? If your response to this question would be 'me', I suggest you get the fuck out, or alternatively, keep your opinion to yourself. Pizza is as close to culinary perfection as you're going to get. Versatile, and bloody awesome, you just can't beat a bit of pizza. Not keen on having any fancy ingredients? You needn't worry. Slap on some cheese and tomato, and you've won at life. Add some pepperoni? You just won a bit more. Damn, I could really do with some pizza right now. Thick or thin, I just don't care - I want it. I love the stuff, so much so that to be honest, I treat pizza in general as a member of family...it's just that I don't cook or eat my family...nor are they Italian...screw that, the point is that I love pizza very very very much. If there were ever any doubts about pizza's awesomeness, they can be quashed instantly simply by this: Pacman was based off a pizza. That's all you need to know, and it needs no explanation. Wait...what's that I can smell? PIZZA! Oh yes, somebody's getting pizza tonight *grins* Upon hearing/smelling this news, any shit in my life has taken a back seat, because I'm now drooling over the prospect of eating pure awesomeness, with awesomesauce. Thank you pizza, you're now my best friend. I know you'll never leave me.

Anniversaries

Anniversaries are important to most people, on some level. Most couples will celebrate their first anniversary of being together in one way or another, and, if the relationship goes any further, they'll probably celebrate in further years. An anniversary is a way of saying to each other, 'bloody hell, how the fuck have I put up with you for (-insert number here-) years'...wait, no, sorry, I'm not supposed to be saying that. If it's as though you're having to strain to put up with each other, and the anniversary is just a milestone of relief, then it's probably best that you bail out and bail out fast. So anyway. Why am I talking about anniversaries? Is it because me and my imaginary girlfriend have hit our (-insert embarrassing number here-) anniversary? Hahahaha, when I think about it, that day can't actually be far off. Of course, by 'imaginary girlfriend', I really meant 'nobody'. But jokes aside, yesterday, I came back from my grandparents' golden wedding anniversary. 50 whole years of marriage. Not just 50 years together, but 50 years plus however long they knew each other before they bravely committed their lives to each other. Reaching 50 years is an incredibly proud achievement, and they really do deserve it. They're such lovely people, and they'd never hurt a fly. (Well, they do possess and use a flyswat, but...) Hopefully they'll keep going for a while longer, and I'm sure they will - there's no way that anything would split them up, apart from the inevitable...but let's not think about that. Not everyone makes it this far, because sometimes it just doesn't quite work. There's always going to be issues to overcome, and sometimes they'll prove too much for a couple. It's life I suppose. In a perfect world, we'd all like to reach 50 years of marriage with 'the perfect person' - and some of us will. But it won't be easy, it's not as though everything you want will just instantly go to plan. The ideal home, the pets, 2 kids (or how ever many it is that you'd want when you're older), the ideal job...if you get all these then bloody well done to you. I'll be knocking on your door, asking if you could come down to my house of failure and give me some life tips. I.e, write me a foolproof step by step guide, and I might just be okay. But anyway, 50 years is an amazing achievement, and my grandparents really do deserve it. Surely the laws of marriage state that they should be at each other with knives by this point? Surely they can't STILL be happy together after all these years? Well, it looks like they are. Hats off to you Ben and Kay.

Losing Things

Well, I'm a fairly clumsy person to be honest. I'm not necessarily as accident prone as I used to be, but I'm still very much vulnerable to making mistakes, being a bit stupid, or misplacing things. For example, for some reason I seem to have some insatiable desire to unwillingly lose my mobile phone all the time. It truly baffles me. If I could have a quid for every time I've 'lost' something, and then found it in one of the most obvious of obvious places mere moments later, I'd probably never need a job to keep me going. USUALLY though, we find whatever it is we're looking for in the end, even if it has been left in the most curious and thought provoking of places. According to my mum, if I've lost something inside the house, then it in fact isn't lost. It's just been misplaced. Perhaps, but to me, the definition of lost is to not know where the hell the object is. Meh, we all have different perceptions of things. It's not only objects that we can lose too though. Friendships, relationships, people themselves, common sense, enthusiasm, calmness, concentration, health, and many other things too can be lost, in their own way. In this list, the loss of one thing can lead to the loss of another. The loss of health may lead to the loss of a loved one. The loss of common sense, calmness or even enthusiasm can lead to the loss of friendships and relationships. The loss of concentration can lead to the loss of objects and items. It's interesting...quite often, it's only when these things are gone from your life (be it permanently or temporarily) that you realise just how crucially important they are to you, and how difficult it can be at times to cope without them. If you're lucky, you'll at some point get what you lost back, and more likely than not you'll from that point onwards be more careful in general, and more critically aware of just how important that thing can be to you personally. I'm not entirely sure why I've chosen to write about this, of all the topics. I suppose it feels kind of relevant to me right now. One thing's for sure, on many occasions during our (long, painful, depressing) lives, it will most definitely be relevant. Loss of many forms happens all the time, and I suppose we've got to just deal with it in the right way, or earn what we lost back. I can guarantee you that when what slips away from you really matters to you, even if it can't return, you'll always be wanting and trying to get it back. Funnily enough...my mobile is pretty important to me, and you'll never guess where it is...because I don't know. (If I could pull the 'XD' face in real life, I would LOVE to right now)

Lack of Activity

For various reasons, I haven't really written much on here recently. I told myself from the start that I should try and keep up some consistency in my output, so I'm now going to think of something to write off the top of my head. Erm...I'll need some more time. Looks like I'll have to stick true to the title, and write a whole blog entry on a distinct lack of blogging activity. Does this mean that I have a pathetic, dismal life? (RHETORICAL QUESTION). Meh, I'll answer it for you - yes, yes it probably does. Anyways, I'd like to say that from now on I'll keep up a good, solid, consistent level of blog posts, but with college round the corner, I'm going to have to actually start working - not 'working' like I did for the GCSEs (which I somehow inexplicably dicked on with the laid back, cba fluke of the century), but proper actual hard work, with little time for any kind of reasonable breaks. Ultimately, after lots of hard work, mostly involving writing, would I REALLY like to spend my break doing yet more? It seems unlikely, but we will see. Unfortunately for you guys though, I'll make sure that I don't give up on this blog. So from time to time, you may find yourself unwillingly reading a long, drawn out, pointlessly opinionated paragraph by myself on some randomly selected, irrelevant topic. Enjoy?

Meh

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This is partly me being frustrated, and letting off a bit of steam, and also, conveniently, it's me giving spellchecker an absolute field day.

Rage

I'm an angry person, but I can control myself. But sometimes, just sometimes, like right now, I'll have something to be immensely pissed off about for no reason. So here we go, here's a lovely little random rant that will inevitably get me nowhere, only hot and bothered, and will leave you unlucky people wondering why the fuck you just wasted your precious time that could spent doing much more fun and productive things, reading this. Attention seeking...fucking hell, does it make me mad! It's pathetic, useless, and will only ever make people judge you, like I am doing right now. Should I judge people? No, but I'm an angry motherfucking prick, so I don't give a shit. I come onto facebook, a place where opinions, photos, memories, comments, laughs, and the like can be shared, for everyone, or just a select few people to see and enjoy. Great. Facebook is great, and though the novelty is of course wearing off slightly, I will religiously use the site, whenever I can to get my fix. Now, cast your mind back to what I just said. 'for everyone, or a select few people'. Now not everything is appropriate for everyone to see. Some things may be offensive to certain people, or it may just not be relevant to spout something out to everyone, such as plans for a party or something. But fucking hell, I do NOT, when I come onto facebook in my time of supposed relaxation and enjoyment, want to see some moaning prick that I don't even know, drivel about how bored they are, or how their life sucks, or how they want this, and they want that. Enough already, I get it. So now, fuck off, yeah? Jesus Christ, does that get on my nerves. Just because Facebook encourages you to say 'What's on your mind' DOES NOT mean that everyone wants to fucking hear it! In the case of one person in particular, it's quite the opposite. How about, instead of that, Facebook tells this person to 'Shut the fuck up or die'. That would fucking make my day (apologies for the cursing, I'm making the most of this ridiculous rage). Now, just to hold it there for one second. This does not mean that I hate this person, and that I couldn't care less about her so called 'troubles'. It's just that it isn't for me to help her, because I don't even know her! Other people should talk to her about these things, so chucking these horribly desperate shreds of pathetic piss down everyone's way, is not the right thing to do. I just don't want my news feed to be crammed full of whatever shit it is that she is spouting out her most probably rotten and mutated, gangrenous arse. My view, of course, when it comes to people that I know and love, is completely different. If you've got a problem, or are angry, or for whatever reason need help, by all means share your views, and hopefully, people will come and help you. I've got a lot of time for that, because I hate to see people down, especially those that I hold closest to my heart. However, if you're some retarded little flid, that adds countless randomers because you're a lonely little goblin hobo, don't expect any sympathy from me. What you'll get is anger, or neglect, or a little snide comment. Twat.

The time?!

Hmmmm...so it seems that whenever I post a blog update, the time is completely wrong, by several hours. How odd. The time on the lappy is fine, but is way off on this site, and this site only. What a fucking mystery! So, err...now you know. Yeah, that is all...

Early Morning Fast Food

So, I've just got back from McDonald's in Swansea...yeah, that's right. McDonald's. Swansea. 2 o' Clock in the morning. What a win. Well, sort of. Ish. I'm now pretty fucking stuffed, to say the least. Which is annoying, because I tried to avoid that by being an unusually 'healthy' prick and ordering some Tropicana. Alas, it did not work, it only made me look like an idiot. Fruit juice + burger and chips = wtf?! But still, I enjoyed my meal - just not as much as I would have enjoyed taking a sheep up the shitter, that's all...what? Actually, when I think about it, that food sucked. The burger was dry, and the fries were overcooked XD Oh well, who gives a shit, eh?

Football Manager

'It's just a game!' they say. 'You have no life!', they may also say. No, I don't really have a life, but bloody hell it is not just a game. Okay, well that's just how I see it. To just as many people, it isn't even a game and that's fine. But football is awesome. It's heartbreaking, exciting, and damn compelling once you're into it. Football is an obsession of mine, and I'm not exactly proud of it. This alone would be more than enough. But no, why not go one further? A little thing called football manager has completely taken over most of my life, and I wish I was joking. It has consumed so many minutes, hours, days, weeks and actually probably months of my life, that it is now embedded in my mind as a simple part of the daily routine. I.e Wake up, football manager, eat, football manager, wash, football manager, eat, football manager, football, football manager, eat, football manager, (eventually) sleep. Also bare in mind that all the while, especially after the final 'eat', msn and facebook are nibbling away at my poor, dismal life. It's just insanely addictive. Every little bit about it screeches for my time and effort, from the matches themselves to the renewal of contracts and the scouting of foreign talent...I really can't help it. For this, and this alone, I hate football manager. Well, no, I love it, but shit, am I going to regret it! It worries me that football manager has integrated itself as 'that thing that I do all the time', but I'm sure you know by now that this fat bastard *points to self* isn't going to do a thing about it. I suppose for me, it's nice to have an alternate (lame) reality where I can actually impose myself on the (footballing) world and actually be (mostly) successful. Just ask Dover FC, who in my little world have now had 3 promotions in 4 seasons. Oh yes. *looks embarrassed* I haven't wasted most of my life, when I could have be doing much better, more productive and useful things - honestly! It's just nice to be able to temporarily transform from lazy teenager who regrets most of his life and never puts in a good shift, into a prestigious football manager, on a rather hefty sum of virtual money per annum. Perhaps I should stop now then, because after an awesome session in which I've just won the FA Cup, of maybe even the Johnstone's Paint Trophy depending on who I am, once I've closed the laptop lid, I fall straight down to Earth. Sooner or later, that fall will break my motherfucking legs. Oh screw it, I don't care, it's just a bit of (time eating and slightly pointless) fun. Ultimately, there's plenty of people that do things just as sad as this, aren't there? No? Fack...I suppose at least I'm addicted to a relatively harmless football simulation game, as opposed to hard drugs...

Posting too much

Blogging. It's meant to be done at regular intervals. It's also meant to be insightful, informative and entertaining, so I've completely missed that boat! But anyway. Once a day would be a good amount to try and stick to. I've broken this aim though, by spouting out the shit that comes from my mind far too regularly. Half the time I'm not even sure where I'm going with what I'm writing, but hell that's half the fun for me. I suppose I'm churning out so many posts because I know that inevitably, I'll lose the urge to write any more blog entries, and my usual lazy attitude to almost everything will be applied to one more thing. So because of this, I'm trying to make the most of the time that I have when I'm not being a complete vegetable. Then again, how do I know that I'll just stop doing this stupid blog? I mean, if I'm actually sitting here writing a blog post to do with posting too much *takes reality check* (shit, I actually am...), then surely I could keep going for a while longer than I expected. Perhaps, perhaps not. Do I care? Perhaps, perhaps not. Do I care about anything in this world? Perhaps, perhaps not. I'm just taken aback by the nice irony of moaning about blogging too much, in a fucking blog post...priceless.

Pacman

A while ago, some time back in May, a little yellow friend of mine celebrated his 30th birthday. Firstly, let's just chuck it out there. Pacman is AWESOME. It's simple, addictive, and damn fun. But do you think it's much fun for the poor guy? Have you heard him recently? 'Wacca-wacca-wacca...' It must be driving him absolutely fucking bat shit insane! A constant loop of some meaningless irritating noise. But it's not only this, no no, it gets worse for our nearly circular friend. I mean, he's constantly on the move, in fear, chomping away at his little yellow blobs of food, in the desperate hope that it takes his mind off the GHOSTS that are chasing him. Fucking ghosts! Just imagine - we've never (let's be honest) actually seen a bloody ghost, so to be chased by four is fucking ridiculous! The poor guy...! So, to give the little yellow dude a chance, he's allowed to eat the ghosts, so long as he has recently eaten a power pellet. How this makes any sense, I'd love to know. Answers on a postcard please. So anyway, after a long slog of running (?) around a maze, fleeing from ghosts, and then charging back at them, Pacman finally eliminates all the ghosts. After all that, could you imagine the relief he must be feeling? Well it doesn't last for long. Because guess what? He has to do it all AGAIN. Why? Because we want to get a high score. Fuck we're selfish. Pacman is forever stuck inside a death maze. We all love the guy, but we don't realize what we've done to him. He's probably a complete babbling nervous wreck right now. I would even go as far as saying that he's probably pretty suicidal. You see, that's what we've all collectively done to Pacman. The greatest hero of all time (maybe). Happy now? 'Cause I sure as hell aint. We've got to get him out of there. Even if he turns out to be a complete dickhead, we have to save him for his sheer bravery and for the fact that he's shaped like a fucking pizza. Fucking. Pizza.

Same old, same old

Is it only me that from time to time feels a bit boring whenever I say 'hey' and 'how are you?' on msn and of course the practical but infuriatingly broken facebook chat? To me it feels like I'm being a bit of a robot, churning out the same greetings and questions, just like every other day - as though it's some kind of ritual. It's only after this, when topic points of interest crop up that the conversation can really get going. That's not me saying the greetings are boring, no no, of course not. It's just that most often, the response is 'yeah I'm good cheers', and there's not much you can say about that. It's only when something's up that you can really get talking at the start of the conversation. (and as someone in particular knows, I can go on a bit...) So what I do? I've tried mixing things up before, but they vary from the slightly less boring 'how be you?'s and the 'you okay?'s and the 'hey up's to the utterly laughable and completely ridiculous 'what's crackalackin?', 'how is you finding yourself maaaan?' and 'yo yo negro'...! The point is, that I don't think it's possible to avoid the beginning of conversations sounding ever so slightly rehearsed. You'd have to be a social genius to be able to freshen it up successfully. Or, maybe I'm the only one who finds this an actual problem and I'm just a socially awkward reject of life...come to think of it, that does seem eminently plausible. Bugger.

The Art of Repetition (and something to 'do' while I'm bored)

Hello, my name is Ben. Hello, my name is Ben. Hello, my name is Ben. Hello, my name is Ben. Hello, my name is Ben. Hello, my name is Ben. Hello, my name is Ben. Hello, my name is Ben. Hello, my name is Ben. Hello, my name is Ben. Hello, my name is Ben. Hello, my name is Ben. Hello, my name is Ben. Hello, my name is Ben. Hello, my name is Ben. Hello, my name is Ben. Hello, my name is Ben. Hello, my name is Ben. Hello, my name is Ben. Hello, my name is Ben. Hello, my name is Ben. Hello, my name is Ben. Hello, my name is Ben. Hello, my name is Ben. Hello, my name is Ben. Hello, my name is Ben. Hello, my name is Ben. Hello, my name is Ben. Hello, my name is Ben. Hello, my name is Ben. Hello, my name is Ben. Hello, my name is Ben. Hello, my name is Ben. Hello, my name is Ben. Hello, my name is Ben. Hello, my name is Ben. Hello, my name is Ben. Hello, my name is Ben. Hello, my name is Ben. Hello, my name is Ben. Hello, my name is Ben. Hello, my name is Ben. Hello, my name is Ben. Hello, my name is Ben. Hello, my name is Ben. Hello, my name is Ben. Hello, my name is Ben. Hello, my name is Ben. Hello, my name is Ben. Hello, my name is Ben. Hello, my name is Ben.

Good, isn't it...?

My sister from another mister...

I have a reasonably small close family I suppose, because most of them live in Wales, and there's almost no instances of having step-relatives. Fear not though. I have a sister. No, we're not bound by blood, but by solid gold friendship. To me she's a best friend, but she's also, in spirit, a damn fine sister to me. I think we consider eachother 'related' like this because right from the start, when we first talked, something clicked, and we could instantly trust eachother and openly talk about anything. Frankly, having someone like this in my life has been completely invaluable. At times I wonder what I'd do without my sister, because she's always here by my side, and she could cheer me up and improve my day in an instant. She's lovely, and so fucking funny. (I'm sure Pablo will agree...) She's just too good to ever lose. God forbid, she better be here to stay! Admittedly, we've had our moments...but tell me, what strong partnerships, in reality and in fiction DON'T go through rough patches? Only those who are truly connected will make it through and return to how they were before, and I can safely say we made it. So, why am I saying all this now? Honestly, there's no particular reason, it's just the truth. It's just a heartfelt thankyou that I need to publicly throw out there, because she's bloody brilliant. So thankyou ever so much Katie. Long may what we have continue.

Nostalgia: The Drop of an Ice Cream

Picture the scene: You're 6 years old. You're on holiday with your family, and you decide to go down the coast. It's a lovely day - the sun is shining and there's only a light breeze to be felt. You've just had a really fun afternoon on the beach and in the sea, so you head off to get ice creams. Ice cream needs no explanation. It wins. This is back in the day when a '99' actually cost 99p by the way. So anyway, everyone happily om nom noms their way through their ice creams and lollies of varying sizes and varieties. Let's stop right here. For a six year old kid, it's been a pretty fucking good day. What could possibly go wrong? One thing. And it's (possibly) worse than death itself. It certainly felt that way at the time. Your whole world is about to plunge into darkness. A couple of hours of tears, anger, frustration and unmitigated sadness beckon. Yep, that's right, you're about to drop your ice cream. The happiness window will slam shut, and fresh air will be replaced by...errr...rage air? This analogy needs a lot more work. But really, there's not much more immensely frustrating in life than dropping an ice cream. It's just (cliche alert) not fair. You just wish you could go back and get another one, but you know that won't be able to because it was a treat. You then have to sit there, drowning in your tears, (admittedly better than drowning in the sea) while EVERYONE else around you is enjoying licking away at their cold creamy delights, with a delicious crunchy cone...good old childhood :)

Wales

Oh Wales...what other country could we possibly use to randomly slag off for a bit of unnecessary fun? Well, apart from Ireland and Scotland. And England too. And France. And Germany. And Russia. And America. And India. And China. And Japan. Bloody hell, we are a stupidly racist country. Anyway, so why the scorn? The Welsh brought us The Stereophonics, The Manic Street Preachers, The Lost Prophets and...err...Goldy Looking Chain? Not convinced? Check out THAT flag! Just imagine...'Hmmm, so we're supposed to have some sort of basic colour scheme, with some kind of cross or very basic symbol in the middle. I don't like this. Let's have a motherfucking dragon!'. Here's some cold hard evidence: Dragon = kick ass. Being half Welsh, I know a reasonable amount about Wales, and I can't quite see where all the stick comes from. I mean, as part of a joke, it's completely fine, and I'd almost certainly join in. But when somebody genuinely hates Wales and its people, I find that pretty pathetic. This is the case for all countries. It's just plain racism, frankly. Especially when the person who harbours these views has probably never been there anyway! When they think of Wales, their minds instantly say: 'Sheep buggery. Accent. Sheep buggery. The language. Sheep buggery. Sporting shitness. Did I mention the sheep buggery?' I would fight for the country, and explain why the criticism is unjust, but all of a sudden, I'm not sure if I care any more. My desire to rant like a mini David Mitchell completely hight on red bull has faded, and now I'm just tired. Ultimately, the only two things from the list above that are fair are the sporting shitness, and the language. The language is just plain irritating, and it forces some people's English ability to be rather dilute. But whatever, I don't want the language to be killed. And as for sport? I always thought that Wales solely concentrated on rugby (which would go some way in explaining the failures of the football team), but worryingly I haven't exactly heard much about the Welsh rugby side dominating the world. Poor Wales...I better go now, so many sheep, so little time!

Stating the obvious

Hi. I'm a human, and I'm currently typing. I have a name, and I live in a place, on a planet. It's probably the same planet that you're on. Jesus Christ, stating the obvious! What a nightmare. Well, not necessarily. The above example was deliberately prickish and unnecessary, but sometimes, in fact probably most of the time, stating the obvious is done because it needs to be done. If I state the obvious, I'm either being sarcastic (NOT the lowest form of wit) or am having to be patronising like this because you're acting so incredibly stupid and ignorant that the only way of getting an idea through to your head is by being basic, blunt, and ruthlessly clear. Got it? Good. Don't get me wrong, I hate it when someone states the obvious to put you down, and to make you look like shit. I get this a lot, and it's probably because I'm asking for it. But...then again, though I see it like this, come to think of it, I almost certainly deserve it. I need to be shown up, because I too often act like an arsehole. Long live stating the obvious, and long live the immensely frustrating art of being patronising, because some day I reckon it'll finally fully get into my thick skull, and I'll improve as a person.

Adding 'ses' to a word...and talking in a deliberately incorrect but undeniably hardcore way.

A few years ago, Outkast asked themselves 'What's cooler than being cool?'. Their answer was 'Ice cold'. They were wrong. I'll tell you what's cooler than being cool. It's being coolses. Yes, that's right. Let's try another (much weaker) example. What's awesomer than being awesome? (A) Ice Awesome (B) Ice Cool (C) Awesomes. If you didn't pick option C, please do not read on any further. This post will not be to your liking. This could very well be the most bestest post I'll ever do. It isn't, because already, only a few lines in, I don't know what else I can write...but hey. I'll soldier on, and march proudly into the abyss of overdoing it. So, I do love to add 'ses' to words, and talk in a deliberately incorrect but undeniably hardcore way, that's a given. But why do I love doing it so? It COMPLETELY contradicts all that I stand for in the way of the English language (my policy by the way, to sum it up briefly, is 'fucking get it right'). I don't know. Life is filled with many hypocrisies, and I suppose I'm just a living, breathing, walking and talking one of them. Meh, I don't care. We're all hypocrites in some way. I just happen to be one in teh most awesomes and coolio way...(and many other ways)

Swearing

It has to be said, I do love a good fucking swear. Now, I've trained myself to not swear AT ALL in front of my parents, yet curse like Gordon Ramsey in a kitchen filled with thousands upon thousands of hilariously incompetent chefs, after being told he can have a billion quid for every time he lays down a sweet little F-bomb. Swearing, frankly, is fucking brilliant. (Yes, that was deliberate). It allows you to convey an extra level of emotion, that no 'very' or 'really' could ever deal out. Yet, I have a concern. A slight one. I've noticed that recently children aged as young as 3 can be heard cursing their motherfucking shitty little hearts out. Why is this? Blame the 'new improved' modern parent...(but I'll rant about that some other time) So, where am I going with this? Well, with so many people swearing like mad at such regular intervals, the words are starting to lose their meanings. No, that's not right, sorry, the effect that they can convey is being hugely diminished. If I walked up to you (yes, YOU) and told you to piss off because you're a twat, you'd probably laugh, and then swear back. Unless YOU are one of my parents...in that case, you'd probably give me a good hiding. Without these gems of words though, how the fuck will the expressive, forceful and opinionated young generation that we are be able to put our points across? It's a dicking travesty, frankly.

Holiday sleeping pattern...SCREWED!

Well hello there follower, or followers if I'm extremely lucky. While sitting here, at 2 o' clock in the morning on my laptop for the umpteenth consecutive night, it feels pretty appropriate to talk about this. Here's the deal: I wake up at roughly some time between 10 and 12 in the morning, and I'll go to sleep at some time between 1 and 4 in the morning. In between this I'll eat, drink, and slouch my way to happiness (I think). And it's awesome. Damn fucking awesome. But here's the problem: College. Soon. Work. Inevitable. Oh. Shit. So, how do I get back to my normal sleeping pattern? If it involves going to bed at some obscenely early time, I won't do it. And to be honest, I know I won't do it anyway. Laziness is a beautiful thing, and now that it's taken hold of me, there's no escape. Do I need to buck up my ideas and tighten up my act? Hell yes. Do I need to exercise? Hell yes. Do I need to to eat more healthily? Hell yes. Do I need to stop being boring and do more with my life? Once more, hell yes. Crucially...will I do any of these things? I've got two words for you. Hell. No. It's part of who I am now, regrettably. Perhaps it's a good time to be a slob though. What with the ridiculously quick advances in technology, and a general loss of appreciation for mother(fucker) nature, maybe I've picked a good time.

Blargh. Oh, no, sorry: Blog. Much better.

So, here's to a new era? A fresh start? A head first dive into new water? Grazing on pastures new and green? Delving into the modern world of technological expression? Fuck that. Screw the sentiment, and the fancy shit, it's only a blog. You may read more text, tainted by my hands and keyboard on this very blog. You may also not. It pretty much depends on whether I can get my arse into gear, and whether there's actually any point in me doing this. Only time will tell, eh?