tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-68366046850103242242024-03-13T07:02:38.676+00:00Vaguely InterestingSamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16746860373975858355noreply@blogger.comBlogger37125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6836604685010324224.post-35183261226646277692015-06-01T02:29:00.000+01:002015-06-01T02:42:25.889+01:00Life Begins to End at 20School prepares you for adulthood in the same way driving lessons prepare you for being hit by a bus. I say this because I'm turning 20 next week and that means that I've been adulting on a semi-professional level for two years, and I can honestly say that only about 10% of the things I learnt at school have had any practical use in the real world.<br />
<br />
I can't remember how to do Pythagoras's theorem, I've never used long multiplication, I've never had to divide or multiply a fraction by another fraction because why would anyone ever need to do that, and George shoots Lennie. I still don't know anything about tax, I have no idea how to go about buying a car or renting a flat, and I still can't fucking speak French.<br />
<br />
It's been four years since I left school and in that time I still don't know what all the fuss was about. Five years of glorifying people who got 10 GCSEs at no less than A* making younger kids aspire to reach this unrealistic frankly ludicrous goal, and two years of pressuring kids into getting the required grades to get into college. This was usually 3 Cs including English and maths, and 2 Bs in whatever, and it turns out you only need two; English and maths at a C or above. In order to get a real life job which pays real life money with plenty of opportunities to climb the real life career ladder, you only need two GCSEs. That's it. Two. And nobody at any point tells you that experience is the most valuable thing to have when looking for work <i>which you will definitely have to do, </i>so in the end, all that stress and all the revision and all the cramming was for nothing. <br />
<br />
But it doesn't end there, oh no. If you do end up at sixth form college, you'll subject to two more years of "you must get into uni or will actually die for real." <br />
College was better than school, but only in the sense that it wasn't school. It was just like school, though, only sometimes you had to stay until 4pm and you could call your teachers (now ostensibly called "tutors") by their first names, and you didn't have to wear a uniform. But you still had homework, bullies, senior members of staff who hadn't got a clue, and you quite often still had to ask to go to the toilet only to be denied because you were expected to be able to schedule your bowel movements. As for the whole grades thing, you're told for two years that you must get at least 120 UCAS points to get a place onto most bachelor's degree courses. Turns out that's bollocks as well, because I got A levels so poor they're barely worth mentioning on my CV, and I was told "Well at least you've got A levels." which is like telling someone with paraplegia "Well at least you've got legs." But even with my what are technically passing grades, I still managed to technically get into university. It wasn't quite what I wanted at the time, but I was at uni.<br />
<br />
But of course I dropped out of uni and life subsequently shat in my soup and chucked me in at the deep end and now I'm 20 and I have no idea what I'm doing send help.Samhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16746860373975858355noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6836604685010324224.post-13627540434994254842015-04-14T17:19:00.000+01:002015-04-14T17:20:24.022+01:00Being Terminally Ill Has An Upside. My favourite thing about having cystic fibrosis is the fact that my digestive system is faulty in just such a way that I could, if I wanted/could afford to, eat KFC five times a day for a year and maintain a healthy weight. I mean, I'd have terrible teeth and skin, but I'd only be about 70 kilos which, I have to say, is a marked improvement on my current weight.<br />
<br />
The reason I can do this is because the cells in my pancreas that produce the enzymes essential to digesting my food are permanently on strike, I am therefore prescribed pancreatin capsules which contain a mixture of said enzymes. However, solely relying on pancreatin to digest everything I eat means my digestion of essential nutrients is less effective than it would otherwise be were I not terminally ill. When my chemical structure was being made my genes decided to not do the thing that would allow my body to effectively absorb salt and fats, which sounds brilliant and yes, I am very thin as a result, but salt and fats are things that your body needs in order to be not dead, so without pancreatin I do run a risk of being malnourished while still stuffing my face because it'll come out at more or less the same rate it goes in. <br />
<br />
If I become malnourished (and that is not a big 'if'), my lung function collapses, which takes my already shite immune system with it, opening me right up to all kinds of delightful infections which make me actually properly ill, cause me to lose my appetite (which is serious), and then I quite literally start wasting away. Because that's called 'decomposition' and it's what happens after you die, which is what would happen to me in this, the very worst case scenario. It's worth mentioning at this point that it would take time for that scenario to progress, although I don't actually know how much time so it may well be less time than I think. Thankfully, neither I, my mother, nor any of the medical professionals closely associated with my well-being have never, and hopefully will never, let it get quite that bad. Although I have been in hospital several times over the last fifteen years as a result of my own negligence, but I'll gloss over that. Samhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16746860373975858355noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6836604685010324224.post-36246278788574192822014-04-03T10:31:00.000+01:002014-04-03T10:35:14.077+01:00MySpace and Bebo: The Vast Abandoned Cities of the InternetEver since everyone started unrelentingly deepthroating Facebook back in 2010, its rivals were a bit fucked. MySpace and Bebo both lost pretty much all of their respective user traffic. People west, east, and central were just upping and abandoning their accounts, with only a few making the effort to actually delete them so the admins don't get their hopes up. Up until recently logging on to an old account out of boredom or curiosity (brought about by boredom) was like walking around a vast abandoned city like Pripyat or anywhere in North Korea that isn't the middle of Pyongyang. You'd find your old account with all your mates' old accounts still in the friends list, you'd see all your old photos and your last update would be from several years ago. You'd click on a mate's account: "Last active: 8th February 2009."<br />
<br />
Both MySpace and Bebo suffered the same abandonment and yet, rather confusingly, kept going. Like an oblivious stand-up dying at a gig, they just...<br />
kept on going...<br />
<br />
MySpace has changed its layout at least three times since everyone left. The flow of traffic was so minimal at one point that MySpace's admins just went "fuck it" and changed its name to "My_____." Literally "My" and then an actual space. The most pointless thing I've ever seen done on the internet and <i>nobody fucking noticed.</i> Bebo was adamant that everyone would get bored of Facebook and come back, like a 'friendzoned' boy desperately yet fruitlessly attempting to advance on a young lady who's about as interested in him as the pope is in going to Ibiza and getting fookin' wankered, m8. So Bebo didn't change anything for years that was noteworthy or even noticeable.<br />
<br />
That is until now.<br />
<br />
From what I gather from my "extensive research", MySpace has reverted back to its previous name and become a music sharing website like Spotify or Soundcloud, and Bebo has completely changed everything. They've removed all the dusty old abandoned accounts and they've made a page explaining why they've done that as if anyone actually gives a shit or remembers they had an account with them in the first place, and they've got a little counter of people who've signed up for the 'new' Bebo. So far it's got up to a fucking astonishing 18 people. You go Bebo. There's also a video of the weird looking billionaire owner of Bebo who presumably forgot he owned Bebo until he suddenly remembered one day and was bored enough to give it a complete overhaul. You should go and pop over there. It's the same URL. Make an account you're going to update twice. Then leave forever.<br />
<br />
Just like mum did.<br />
<br />
:'( <br />
<br />Samhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16746860373975858355noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6836604685010324224.post-52347996649918668052014-02-10T00:29:00.000+00:002014-02-10T00:29:53.289+00:00SouperiorityI imagine there's a huge debate going on that's been raging for some decades between scientists, linguists, and people who haven't got any friends about whether you eat soup, or drink it. I've been thinking a lot about this recently and I've come to the conclusion that I don't give a dog's arsehole. As far as I'm concerned, if it's thin enough to be drunk from a mug, you drink it but if it's thick enough to be eaten with a fork, you eat it. It's not a difficult concept.<br />
<br />
I've always been a connoisseur of soup, so I know when I'm eating a bad one and similarly a good one. I can prove I know soups by making a damn fine lentil, a bloody marvellous potato, and a really rather splendid French onion. Although, anyone can make a good French onion soup because it's impossible to make a bad one. All it is is chopped and sauteed onions with beef stock, and if you make a fuckery of that then you aren't fit to live among society and you must be sectioned. I'm looking at you Heinz.<br />
<br />
Seriously, who have they got taste-testing the soups that Heinz make? Homeless people? East African children? When it comes to making soup, Heinz get everything wrong. It's like they're going out of their way to mass-produce the world's worst soups. All of their soups, except <i>maybe</i> their cream of tomato, are bits of mushy vegetables submerged in tasteless slime. I've had better tasting phlegm. Whose idea was it to put cornflour in soup? <i>You don't put cornflour in soup! Cornflour goes in gravy! Is soup gravy? No! It is not!</i> Heinz, you do well with your condiments, you really do. You set the benchmark with your beans. But by the power of Greyskull, sort your soups out. Why, for the love of God, do you put chunks of what I think is supposed to be carrot in <i>every</i> fucking soup you inflict upon the general public? If I've paid for a pea and ham soup I expect to find a soup made out of split or fresh peas and with bits of ham in the soup, not a bowl of snot in which you've submerged lumps of all the vegetables you found behind Asda along with WHOLE FUCKING PEAS and cubes of some poor animal's rectum.<br />
<br />
It's really fucking easy to make a large quantity of good quality soup. Waitrose can do it, Baxter's can do it, even I can fucking do it. So what the fuck, Heinz? Soup is really easy to make well if you follow a familiar recipe that works, it's when you start experimenting shit goes wrong. For instance, once I left some onions, some red lentils, and a bay leaf to simmer for ten minutes longer than I usually leave it and I managed to burn the soup onto the pan, but even that was preferable to Heinz's bullshit.<br />
<br />
A bowl of actual bull's shit is preferable to Heinz's bullshit. Samhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16746860373975858355noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6836604685010324224.post-74431044908837741782014-01-05T16:34:00.000+00:002014-01-05T16:35:04.080+00:00Well Fuck Me Backwards, it's Only a New Bloody Year!Well how the fuck about that then? Another year, except with a new number in it, which replaces the old number! Look at that! Isn't that something?<br />
<br />
Well I never.<br />
<br />
Because my internet connection's a stupid bastard, it's incapable of doing two things at once, so I'm going to make this brief;<br />
<br />
Some of you will have a good year, and some of you will have a shit year. That's just how life works. So I can't wish you all a happy new year if some of you are only going to go and have a shit one. It will make me feel bad, it'll make you feel bad. God will be angry.<br />
<br />
Besides, it's the fifth of January. We should have got this new year's gubbins over with by now.<br />
<br />
Dear-oh-dear. Samhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16746860373975858355noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6836604685010324224.post-47624877590633314482013-12-15T15:40:00.001+00:002013-12-15T15:43:08.498+00:00Get a Load of this ShitOkay so on Friday at uni everyone on the course and I learnt a bunch of shit about the course we weren't told about because the guy who directs the course, a well disguised Welshman called Paul, wasn't allowed to by his superiors but totally told us anyway because fuck them. Myself and the one other guy who turned up on time that morning were happy to have this new information, but a bit annoyed that we weren't told this earlier but whatever. The other people, however, were "outraged" by this three month long misinformation. These people are so easy to "outrage" it's scarcely believable. Everything outrages them. Most of the time, they don't even know what the fuck they're outraged by. The printer runs out of toner; OUTRAGE, they can't listen to their shitty music out loud when other people are trying to meet a deadline; OUTRAGE, they're not allowed to eat fucking chips in the fucking classroom during a fucking lesson; fucking OUTRAGE! Jesus H Christ, get a grip you entitled, hair-brained fuck-ups.<br />
<br />
This is what happens when you start a course occupied almost entirely by BTEC students (no offense to BTEC students who aren't cunts), because BTEC students are about as easy to engage as reverse gear with a gearbox that's missing reverse gear. I should have worked harder at college. Kids: work hard in college; save yourself the trouble. <br />
<br />
I'm going for a shower now because I smell like warm stilton and corpses. <br />
<br />Samhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16746860373975858355noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6836604685010324224.post-13717905617387308872013-11-06T11:58:00.000+00:002013-11-06T11:58:09.892+00:00This Fucking Course I Swear to GodI have no idea who to interview. I can do the voiceovers soon, and I can also do the voiceovers for the radio assignment in one sitting. I have no clue what I’m doing. I’m not even sure about this idea anymore. I only did it because I’m sleep-deprived and it seemed like a good idea. It’s not a good idea; it’s a fucking terrible idea. Why did I think this was a good idea? Yeah, I’ll do a TV interview about TV interviews, oh how witty and original, good job, Sam. Why are these cunts so loud? Whose attention are they trying to get? There are, including myself, four other people in this room, and none of us give a fuck. You don’t need to talk so loudly and incessantly for such a long time, you had break time to do that shit. I can’t work with these loud cunts. I used to be able to work with over 20 loud cunts all being loud, because I could block out their noise, but that was the better part of a decade ago, and I’ve lost that ability. Could you not at least lower your voices, you’re all less than a metre from each other. You all think you’re the shit because you’re at uni; get real, shitlords. Okay one of them started singing then another one accidentally harmonised and all three of them made a loud fucking “woo” noise in surprise. You people are going to cost us all a fucking degree, do you know that you arseholes? Do you even care? I doubt it. You’re only here because you get a student loan and a grant which you’ve no doubt already spent on various pointless things you don’t need and going to Gatecrasher on a fucking Tuesday. I bet you’re all on overdraft. You’re supposed to be spending that shit on shit you actually need, and no, booze is not something you need, and if it is you have a problem and you need help. Oh God, one’s just figured out how gold-diggers work. There are two girls and a guy and the guy keeps making feeble, vaguely creepy attempts at flirting with them. One of the girls just referred to Kanye West as a “black care bear” and they all started laughing really fucking loudly oh god please get dysentery. Earlier, the loudest girl (who happens to be from Manchester so she has an accent as well) said it was an “outrage” that the printer was running out of toner. “What are they spending the money we’re giving them on?” Okay first of all: you’re not giving them any money, Student Finance England is; second of all: Birmingham Metropolitan College isn’t getting said money, Birmingham City University is. Now they’re fighting over biscuits. Seriously. Deep fucking joy. Samhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16746860373975858355noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6836604685010324224.post-27063181338427320932013-06-17T23:31:00.000+01:002013-06-17T23:31:24.071+01:00The Badass BurialWhen I die, I want to be thrown into an active volcano. Fuck cremation and scattering my ashes in a silty pond in the Lake District, fuck being buried under a tree with my name on a plaque on a nearby bench in a botanical garden which is itself being gradually buried under bird shit. I want to be thrown, without a casket, in my best suit, into an active volcano; preferably one that's about to erupt, in which case I'll have to be dropped from a helicopter, which will be extra badass. It will be called a lava burial, and it will be boss as all shit. It'll go down in history as one of the most awesome ways of disposing of a corpse of all time. Except maybe placing a corpse over an atom bomb and detonating it wherever they used to test atom bombs. That is if they've stopped testing A-bombs.<br />
<br />
The ways people are disposed of once they're no longer alive are so boring, except for an expensive few. Like a space burial, whereby for an enormous sum of currency, you can be massively overcooked, then have your ashes launched into space. You can have little bits of dust that were once your genitals orbiting Earth, and I just think that's really cool. There is of course the Viking burial, whereby your corpse is set ashore on a vessel then set alight, cremating you and the vessel to save having to go and get the boat. There's alkaline hydrolysis, whereby your body is basically broken down into its chemical components. There are, of course, more clandestine ways of getting rid of your smelly corpse once you've kicked the dust; you can be dumped in a freezer or in a body of water; you can be effectively liquified with strong acids; you can be buried in concrete or cement; and finally, you can be crushed within a scrapped car. So you can forever be with "Pug", your beloved 2001 Peugeot 106 with a 1.2 litre engine, fart can exhaust, and silly aftermarket wheels.<br />
<br />
Just make sure you aren't disposed of by incompetent knuckle-draggers, by being chucked in the woods to be discovered a week later by a jogger or a dog-walker, or lobbed in the river Severn to have your partially decomposed cadaver found some years later. That's not dignified or badass. <br />
<br />
I might also consider being fed into a wood chipper which is aimed at an open window of a mental health clinic. That sounds like messy fun which I won't have to help clear up, because I'll be the mess. Samhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16746860373975858355noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6836604685010324224.post-5255556622021934742013-05-28T18:25:00.002+01:002013-05-28T18:25:29.067+01:00101 Things More Productive than General Studies: Part 2<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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51. Different accent for every lesson.<br />
52. The commission, production, promotion, and release of Windows 8. It's exactly the same as Windows7 but with some kind of mental deficiency.<br />
53. Acting like such a God damn fruit that you hurt your ankle.<br />
54. Developing your own versions of YOLO:<br />
YTAB: Your Tits Are Brilliant<br />
SUYS: Shut Up, You Slag<br />
SLAMGET: Stop Looking At My Girlfriend's Excellent Tits<br />
YODO: You Only Die Once<br />
55. Legally changing your name to H. FUCKING, and insisting that it's always written in capitals so my name would become Samuel H. FUCKING Philpott. Also you shout it when you say your name.<br />
56. Opening a bottle of beer with your wah pedal because you don't have a bottle opener handy.<br />
57. Building a multi-level, very intricate, house of cards-like tower out of the shit plastic chairs at my college.<br />
58. New (now fairly old) copypasta:<br />
>attend Cadbury College<br />
>some cleaner bitches at us because the Hub is too messy<br />
>agree to clean up the Hub<br />
>everybody agrees we should slap our cocks on the Hub<br />
>the fucking new guy accidentally cums on Hub<br />
>its to late now, the dude is bitching that the Hub's not clean<br />
>we mix the jizz with some hot chocolate<br />
>we all go away for holidays<br />
>they replace the chairs<br />
59. Running around a heavily crowded public area in the nude because IT'S THE END OF THE WORLD!<br />
60. Changing the date of the Mayan apocalypse to September 15th 2015, because in a shock turn of events nothing happened yesterday (22/12/12). <br />
61. Walking into a sexual health clinic with a load of girls all arm-in-arm, and going up to the counter to tell the rather incredulous employee that you're "going to need some fucking condoms!" Only to have one of the girls shout "...and some lube!"<br />
62. Doing mediocre Darth Vader impressions with the cardboard tubes wrapping paper comes with.<br />
63. Blaming everything bad that happens to you on Barack Obama.<br />
64. That thing where you put "in my arse" as a suffix to a random song or film title.<br />
65. Counting down to 2013 half a minute early. Silly Big Ben.<br />
66. Running an ad-campaign for a deodorant brand that's literally just "Clean your balls!"<br />
67. Go to RedTube; search "fast-forward blowjobs."<br />
68. Anti-deodorisors:<br />
Coffee-flavoured mouthwash<br />
Cigarette scented incense<br />
Dog shit soap<br />
69. Writing a poem about farting<br />
<a href="http://toiletpoem.blogspot.co.uk/2013/01/the-magnificence-of-public-flatulence.html">http://toiletpoem.blogspot.co.uk/2013/01/the-magnificence-of-public-flatulence.html</a><br />
70. Going to your local video game retailer and asking for such titles as:<br />
Ku Klux Kars: Master Racing<br />
Virtual Manlove in the Middle East<br />
Anne Frank's Hide-and-Seek Championship<br />
London Bus Simulator 2005<br />
Adolf Hitler's Holocaust Tycoon<br />
71. A dirty snow-related pun:<br />
The snow's not the only thing six inches deep tonight.<br />
72. Wearing hench as fuck hiking boots because of their superior grip when Britain turned into fucking Hoth for three months, and then slipping around like a dog on an ice rink because the compacted snow had turned into ice. Unmodified hiking boots don't work on ice, as I found out the hard way. <br />
73. Posting links to shock videos on Facebook all the fucking time.<br />
74. Australian rules of life:<br />
> Live a little<br />
> Watch out for the fucking wildlife<br />
> Help yourself to a fucking beer<br />
> Try not to be a cunt<br />
75. Being so dedicated to shouting full-volume at your, apparently sentient, computer that you angrily clear your throat in order to do it more clearly.<br />
76. Singing <i>We're Not going to Take it</i> by Twisted Sister, but replacing all the lyrics with Hitler.<br />
77. Taking high-resolution photographs of brick walls and passing it off as "abstract."<br />
78. One of my friend Vickie's knock-knock jokes:<br />
Knock knock.<br />
Who's there?<br />
Vickie.<br />
Vickie who?<br />
ME YOU TWAT!<br />
79. Holding a cup of coffee up to my face so it warms my chin. Ingenuity.<br />
80. The last time I was home-alone, I stripped to the nude and sung boisterously to myself as I had a nude poo. (In the toilet, of course.)<br />
81. Using "your dad wears long johns" as a legitimate insult.<br />
82. Trying to kill oneself with antibiotics.<br />
83. Pointing out that Adolf Hitler and Charlie Chaplin did not have the same style of facial adornment, as Hitler's was rectangular, whereas Chaplin's was a trapezoid.<br />
84. Calling someone and acting as though they called you.<br />
85. Spending a lot of time and putting a lot of hard work into writing an essay and making it exactly 1000 words to boot, only to have written about the wrong fucking thing. Again.<br />
86. Being my 15 year old brother, Ben. He is a crazy motherfucker.<br />
87. Founding my very own Secret Society of Samuels, an elite group dedicated so something, for some reason. There are 18 Sams in this society.<br />
88. Stripping to the nude, smearing myself with my own faeces, wearing a Superman cape, and running around screaming Christmas carols to scare pigeons.<br />
89. Pretend a banana is a mobile phone for an entire day, pretending to answer it in the middle of serious conversations with teachers, co-workers, or superiors.<br />
90. Eat a herculean amount of beetroots just to see what colour your piss goes.<br />
91. Fraping me while I'm logged on to my own profile.<br />
92. Using the Navy Seal copypasta as the main body for your CV.<br />
93. Spending hundreds of pounds on large purple dildos, and then planting them anonymously around college in order to become The Dildo Bandit of 2013, the much anticipated successor of The Phantom Shitter of 2011.<br />
94. Go to a library and shout "Cunt!" at all of Shakespeare's publications.<br />
95. Go to your local music retailer (if it hasn't gone into administration), go to the metal section, take a paint pen. Wherever you see the word "metal", whether referring to the musical genre or not, place quotation marks around the word with the paint pen. For the best effect, wear a Linkin Park t-shirt.<br />
96. Go on Google maps and find all the roads with your surname. If there's one local, go there and conquer the street in your family's honour.<br />
97. Transcribing the lyrics to Metallica's <i>Orion</i>.<br />
98. Calling in sick to work/school/college with the most ridiculously obvious fake ailment, like polio of the lungs, or an ingrown foreskin, but playing it off seriously.<br />
99. Singing along to <i>Eye of the Tiger</i> whilst shitting loudly in a public toilet.<br />
100. My friends Adam and Damon's attempts at winning the Nobel prize for literature.<br />
<a href="http://toiletpoem.blogspot.co.uk/2013/05/professor-oak-by-damon-keogh-carey.html" target="_blank">http://toiletpoem.blogspot.co.uk/2013/05/professor-oak-by-damon-keogh-carey.html </a><br />
<a href="http://toiletpoem.blogspot.co.uk/2013/05/coke-by-adam-cooke.html">http://toiletpoem.blogspot.co.uk/2013/05/coke-by-adam-cooke.html</a><br />
101. "Game of Tones" A game in which participants must download the most offensive song they can find, and make it their ringtone. Participants must present video evidence of the public use of their offensive ringtone. The more offensive the better. Obviously. <br />
<br />
That's it. That's all of them. 101 actual things that are a better use of time than General Studies. I hope you enjoyed them.<br />
Now read my poems, damn you. <br />
<br />
<br />
Samhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16746860373975858355noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6836604685010324224.post-67873145679393172382013-05-20T21:36:00.000+01:002013-05-20T22:01:05.142+01:00101 Things More Productive than General Studies (Part 1)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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General Studies is a pointless subject. So pointless, in fact, that I've spent the last two years compiling a list on Facebook of 101 things more productive than it. Which, in itself, is more productive than General Studies.<br />
<br />
<ol>
<li>Sitting in an empty room making popping noises with one's mouth. </li>
<li>Bread slippers.</li>
<li>Spending an entire afternoon pretending to be telepathic.</li>
<li>Getting up really early in the morning in order to pretend you are the only survivor of some great apocalypse. </li>
<li>Spending an entire morning making up creative euphemisms for poo. </li>
<li>Missing the sixth one out by accident, but pretending it was deliberate. </li>
<li>Toast sandwiches.</li>
<li>Designing and constructing a submarine using only cardboard.</li>
<li>Going around the local park putting straws in all the dog turds. </li>
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Spending twelve years of full-time compulsory education learning to read and write only to create a Facebook account and write as if you started learning ten minutes ago. </li>
<li>Wearing a suit all day for no reason. </li>
<li>Getting up from your seat during a general studies lesson, and running into one of the floor-to-ceiling windows in your general studies room in response to seeing some people you know walk past in the corridor.</li>
<li>Translating nursery rhymes into German using Google Translate. <br />"Twinkle Twinkle Little Star" in German:<br /><i>Funkeln funkeln Wenigheit Stern,<br />Wie ich frage mich, wo du bist,<br />Bis uber die Welt so hoch,<br />Wie en Diamant am Himmel,<br />Funkeln funkeln Wenigheit Stern,<br />Wie ich frage mich, wo du bist.</i></li>
<li>Writing a song/poem about salad cream:<br /><a href="http://toiletpoem.blogspot.co.uk/2013/05/im-fucking-partial-to-bit-of-salad-cream.html">http://toiletpoem.blogspot.co.uk/2013/05/im-fucking-partial-to-bit-of-salad-cream.html</a></li>
<li>Yu-Gi-Oh!</li>
<li>Making up words that incorporate other words to make puns.<br />E.g:<br /><i>Fuhrerious:</i> Herr Hitler found out about the escaped prisoners, he's absolutely Fuhrerious.<br /><i>Tyrantial:</i> Joseph Stalin is soaked because he got caught in the tyrantial rain. <br /><i>Hitlerious:</i> The Nazi's tactics during the war were so bad, it was Hitlerious. </li>
<li>Finding out how much of myself I can fit into a large-ish cardboard box without tearing the side.</li>
<li>Lying in hospital watching programs about hospitals and then being all disappointed when the hospital you're in is nothing like the hospital on the TV.</li>
<li>Combining two flavours of crisp to invent a whole new incredible flavour.<br />E.g:<br /><i>Salted Cheese and Pickled Onion (Cheese and Onion and Salt and Vinegar)<br />BBQ Bacon (BBQ Beef and Smokey Bacon</i>)<br /><i>Marmite (Prawn Cocktail and Worcestershire Sauce)<br />Salt and Salt and Vinegar (Ready Salted and Salt and Vinegar)</i></li>
<li>Running through a supermarket in your underwear shouting "Dinosaurs!"</li>
<li>Killing small animals for sport by stomping on them with large work boots.</li>
<li>Learning Wonder Mike's part of <i>Rapper's Delight</i> by the Sugar Hill Gang by heart.</li>
<li>Irritating the religious.</li>
<li>Failing general studies.</li>
<li>Designing and manufacturing a car with its steering wheel on its roof.</li>
<li>Attempting to snort Calpol.</li>
<li>Going to a notoriously haunted tourist attraction dressed as a cartoon ghost. </li>
<li>Playing a game of Twat with oneself and losing. </li>
<li>Going to the local library pretending to have Tourette's. </li>
<li>Stripping to your underwear whilst repeatedly shouting "Porn!"</li>
<li>Attempting to pass off the ingredients from a can of energy drink as a poem. </li>
<li>Opposite bands:<br /><i>ZZ Top - AA Bottom<br />Led Zeppelin - Hydrogen Unicycle<br />Deep Purple - Shallow Yellow<br />Fleetwood Mac - Fleetsteel PC<br />Metallica - Plastica<br />Lamb of God - Tofu of Satan<br />Job for a Cowboy - Unemployment for an Indian<br />Rush - Mosey<br />Dimmu Borgir - Fuck knows.</i></li>
<li>Drawing on your friend's face after he's passed out and doing that creative, original, and above all inventive thing thing where you draw an arrow pointing to the nearest facial orifice and writing "Insert cock here."</li>
<li>Amusing oneself by making a noise resembling an idling tractor. </li>
<li>Trying to see how long you can watch The Only Way is Essex before your eyes start bleeding. </li>
<li>Being amused to no end whenever someone says "[thing] smells funny" by replacing "funny" with "like semen."</li>
<li>Making shoes out of Parmesan cheese.</li>
<li>Trying to frape someone while they're still on their fucking laptop. niggers hitler hitler</li>
<li>Chair-shuffling Olympics. </li>
<li>Going on Dragons' Den in an attempt to persuade one of the Dragons to invest in your groundbreaking new invention; the circle.</li>
<li>Going to a really important job interview wearing a full Medieval suit of armour. </li>
<li>Doing anything at all in a banana suit. Literally anything. </li>
<li>My friend Adam said this when he was playing Pokémon at college: "Fuck off, you deodorant-using cuntflap-fucking prick!"</li>
<li>Vaginal euphemisms:<br /><i>The Gates to Hell<br />The Magic Pink Scabbard of Destiny<br />"Area 51"<br />The "other" mouth.</i></li>
<li>Assembling a group, dressing them as Vikings, and then conquering the German Christmas market in Birmingham. <!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<![endif]--><span class="usercontent"><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">(
͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) <span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">This thing, I mean seriously, what the fuck is this thing?</span></span></span></li>
<li><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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</xml><![endif]-->Talking like a Medieval prince for an entire day.</li>
<li>Take three men with Tourette's and send them on holiday for a week. Hilarity ensues. <br /><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dtCUYUBOnzk">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dtCUYUBOnzk</a></li>
<li>Killing small, furry animals with a mechanical vice to pass the time. <br /><br />I'm not even going to attempt to fit all 101 in one post. The next 51 will be in part 2 next week. <br /> </li>
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Samhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16746860373975858355noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6836604685010324224.post-80935116352546577492013-03-19T21:33:00.004+00:002013-03-19T21:36:04.055+00:00The College Computer Conundrum <!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
I am writing this on my own personal desktop computer. It
has a 3.60GHz AMD A8-5600K APU processor with an integrated ATi Radeon HD
graphics card; it has 7.47 GB of useable RAM, it runs on Windows 8, the latest
operating system from Microsoft. It’s not exactly HAL-9000 or Deep Thought, but
it’s relatively powerful and does everything I ask it to.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The potatoes they
provide the students at the college I attend, however, are complete piles of
arse. All of the computers at college are at least five years old, use
processors less powerful than those small electric motors primary school
children play with during those science lessons wherein they teach you about
basic circuitry, and whoever is in charge of setting them up should be shot.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Does this individual
know what ‘screen resolution’ is? Has this person ever heard or read those
words together in the same clause? The monitors these vegetables are given are
old 15’’ LCD jobs, which require a screen resolution of 1024x768, or else the
screen is impossible to use without acquiring a headache within the first
half-hour of usage. The resolution they’ve been given is closer to 640x480,
which makes the graphics look huge on the screen, which is really bloody
uncomfortable to use.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That’s not the worst part, either, the worst aspect of these
personal catastrophes is the sheer speed of them, or lack thereof.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some of them have
Google’s very fast web browser, Chrome, installed on them, which is fine, until
you discover that the computer is making Google Chrome run slowly. Just how bad
does a computer have to be for Google Chrome, the fastest web browser there is,
to be slow to load?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I clicked on a link
that was on an email I’d subscribed online for, and the page took a full three
minutes to load. God forbid you try loading two tabs at the same time. You’ll
be there for hours, I know I was.<br />
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The main problem is that these computers were made on the
cheap, in bulk, in 2006, for educational establishments by an unknown company
called ‘Stone’, who are somehow associated with Microsoft.<br />
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>These PCs were
designed to run on either Windows XP or Windows Vista, which was the latest OS
at the time, XP being a few years older, but the college computer people have
them running on Windows 7, which they just aren’t designed to do so they can
barely handle the job, and by “the job” I mean “any job”, take Microsoft
Publisher, for example; if you try opening a file that’s over a couple of
thousand kilobytes (which really isn’t a lot), it will take, as they say, the
piss.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The actual maintenance of the tower units (main computer
bits) leaves a lot to be desired. Most of them look as though they haven’t been
cleaned since they were purchased however many years ago that was, and I don’t
just mean the cases are a bit dusty, a computer with clean components runs much
better than a computer full of dust and spiders, dead or otherwise.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Quite a large number
of keyboards have keys missing, in one case I found some of the keys had been
rearranged to spell out a message I can’t repeat without disciplinary action.
If a key isn’t missing, it doesn’t work, and all the keyboards are inexplicably
required to have a safety warning on them, which warns you of the perils of
the, apparently terrifying, office keyboard. Just how much of a slack-jawed
invalid do you have to be to injure yourself using a QWERTY keyboard?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They’re probably
there so Americans can’t go on a suing spree when they deliberately break a
finger while using it claiming that they weren’t expecting it to be so robust,
as if they were expecting it to be made of nougat. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Despite all of this, at least whoever set them up using the
college-wide network made good use of the start menu.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Oh hang on, no they
didn’t, nine times out of ten you can’t get anything from the start menu and if
you can, it’s the wrong thing, because for some reason unbeknownst to people
with common sense, someone’s made it so everything has to be accessed by the
desktop. Now, that seems fine when you don’t yet have anything running because
you’ve just logged in, but once you’ve opened Word or Internet Explorer, you
have to minimise everything before you can open any other program you might
need. This is silly and time consuming if you have a lot of windows open. Which
I do. All the time. As does everyone. I’ve never seen any person work on a
computer in college with less than three windows open at any one time.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Imagine trying to run a game on one of those atrocities. My
pride and joy does a pretty good job of running the latest releases, provided I
don’t set all the graphics to ‘very high’. To run the latest releases on ‘very
high’ settings and still have a playable fps rate I’d need a nuclear reactor,
which I can’t afford just now.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If I tried running
Tomb Raider III, released in 1998, on a college computer, I imagine it would
take several weeks to load, and have a frame rate of about 4 fph (that’s frames
per hour), in spite of the game being at least seven years older than the
computers themselves. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My solution to this problem would be to ultimately employ
someone to look after the computers who actually knew what they were doing.
Maybe they should promote the technician in the media department for my film
studies course. He works with Macs all day, which are downright impossible to
work with so he’d make light work of some broken down old computers.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Maybe he’d even get them to work to the point where people
could actually use them for things. You know, important college things. Stuff
that matters. </div>
Samhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16746860373975858355noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6836604685010324224.post-44088046857074397122013-02-22T23:16:00.000+00:002013-02-22T23:16:59.191+00:00Laziness and XenophobiaIf you can afford to visit one of your neighbouring countries at least once, but you don't, that's downright lazy. For instance, if you've been living in the south of England with more than enough financial means to hop on a ferry to France, you're just lazy. If you live in Seattle, in the northern United States, and it's never even crossed your mind that it might be a good idea to make the short two hour drive to Vancouver, which is barely even in Canada, you're lazy. Don't even try saying "France/Canada's shit, though." because you don't know shit because you've <i>never fucking been</i> <i>there. </i>Seriously, though, how could someone rant about how shit a particular nation is if they haven't made the effort to visit it themselves? I know people who've said "America's such a shit-hole." Really? Have you ever been? No? Then how the hell could you possibly know that? Your knowledge of America consists of what Manhattan looks like, and the orange morons on <i>Jersey Shore</i>. <br />
<br />
Xenophobia still seems to run wild amongst otherwise perfectly normal people, who aren't racist or sexist, but are xenophobic because as far as society's concerned, as long as it's nothing negative about black or Asian people, calling the entire nation of France "pussies" because they pulled out of the Second World War, because all you know about the Second World War is that a German man called Hitler tried to invade England or something, so all the countries started fighting and America was late because they're fat. What you don't know is that France have <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_battles_involving_France" target="_blank">won more military battles than we have</a>, and surrendered to the Nazis because they wanted to preserve French sovereignty, so they <a href="http://www.bonjourlafrance.com/france-facts/france-history/france-during-world-war-2.htm" target="_blank">unleashed the Free French</a> who played a pretty big part in kicking the arses of the oppressive Nazis. As for the Americans, they were formally neutral until the attack on Pearl Harbor in 1941, and (with Britain) invaded north Africa and Italy in 1942-43. Saying they were "late to the war" would be implying they should have been fighting a war which, to begin with, wasn't theirs to fight. What irks me about America, though, is that they seem to take personal responsibility for the allied victory, and they keep reminding us of this: "We saved your ass in WWII." "You know, if it wasn't for us, you'd be speaking German." To which I have to reply, "Well that's not strictly true, because actually, shut the fuck up." And then a Frenchman comes and says "If it wasn't for us, you'd still be under British rule." Samhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16746860373975858355noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6836604685010324224.post-73619100838544067462013-02-17T04:27:00.002+00:002013-02-17T04:27:44.188+00:00The 'Incredible' Story of a Girl Named GeraldOn being informed of her yeast infection, Gerald couldn't stop thinking about her vagina. She would prod it and poke it and stare at it in the full-length mirror, which is for some reason in the kitchen of her Coventry bedsit, for hours on end until she got bored and eventually went and made tea. She liked her tea cold and savoury, with a good pinch of salt, a crack or two of black pepper, and a nice little dollop of Hellmann's mayonnaise.<br />
Gerald, you see, is a bit odd. A bit of a maverick. Somewhat strange. I mean, for a start, she's a girl and her name is Gerald, so you immediately know she's going to be a tad different. Poor Gerry was eaten alive at school; and at college; and indeed at university, where she's studying something. She never tells people quite exactly what she's studying, but she it's definitely a subject, and almost certainly an art subject. Not least because she spends most of her spare time rolling around on an empty canvas, completely nude, covered in various condiments and spreads. Last week it was wholegrain mustard. Her parents, as you've probably gathered, are evil. Not least because they (not accidentally) named their only daughter 'Gerald', but because they're also extremely racist, anti-Semitic, and they delight in killing newborn kittens. I may have made that last one up, but that doesn't take anything away from my point, which is that they're evil. Gerald hasn't spoken to her parents since she gained the ability to talk, aged eight; her parents also only speak German, which, curiously, she does not.<br />
Recently, Gerry met a strapping young gentleman, over the internet, called Susan. Gerald was overjoyed to meet somebody who seemed to be in the same predicament as her, and relished the prospect of possibly meeting Susan in the near future. The only thing in their way was Wales, the Atlantic ocean, Virginia, North Carolina, Georgia, Alabama, Mississippi, and her crippling yeast infection, but ever determined Gerald wasn't going to let her itchy willy-warmer get in the way of meeting her one true love face-to-face, then presumably, after a few drinks and a Barry White record, face-to-penis. <br />
Eventually, Gerald raised enough money to pay for economy class tickets to New Orleans, and enough Vagisil to see her through the flight. When she touched down on the warm, southern tarmac, she was overcome with joy, and an insufferable itching sensation in her Cameron. Her yeast problem was now so bad, she swore blind that the discharge flowing freely from her opening was dry stout. When she saw Susan in all his glory, she ran to his embrace. He held her for what seemed like hours, until Susan let out the most awe-inspiring bottom cough which would astonish even the most seasoned care-home worker. They locked eyes and gazed at each others' souls. Well, three of their eyes locked, as Gerald has a lazy eye which seems to dart from object to object as though it has ADHD. The moment was somewhat ruined by Gerald scratching her vagina, so the two went back to Susan's condo in New Orleans' Uptown.<br />
Kittens were just about everywhere in Susan's condo. They occupied more of his life than anything else; they were his only friends until now. Mind you, he did have upwards of twenty kittens, so he could have said he had plenty of friends, but he'd have had nobody to say it to. The felines seemed less attracted to the beery aroma emanating from Gerald's ham wallet than almost all people were to her almost legendary social awkwardness. Gerald wasn't interested in the cats, she just wanted to get right to it, and (incredibly giving not a single fuck about Gerald's yeast issue) get right to it they did.<br />
I'm going to skip over the naughty bits, because I'm not E. L. James, so I wouldn't know how best to describe the repugnant scenes in detail so as not to make you, the humble reader, lose the entire contents of your digestive system.<br />
Later that week, Gerald was due to return to Coventry leaving Susan behind. Both Gerry and Sue were sad to part ways, but at least they'd had a week of... of... of <i>that. </i>When Gerald returned to the UK, she though of Susan daily. She thought of his name, his horde of kittens, his extensive collections of dragon dildos and Fedoras. She liked his Fedoras so much she took to wearing one of her own, thus being further shunned by society. Gerald missed Susan, but was at least safe in the knowledge that someone, somewhere, had finally penetrated her peachy pocket.<br />
Like it or not, you're now imagining a girl with a yeast infection and a lazy eye being skullfucked by man called Sue wearing a Fedora, and if you're reading this and your name is Damon, please be so kind as to read the first letter of each paragraph. Thank you. Samhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16746860373975858355noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6836604685010324224.post-53791887775874380032013-01-25T00:25:00.001+00:002013-01-25T00:25:36.649+00:00"Totally Unacceptable"So it's been snowing here in England, and many millions of balls of the stuff have been hurled around in frivolous joy as a result. Harmless fun, right? Wrong. According to my college, it is 'totally unacceptable' to throw snowballs (or "snowballing" as they like to call it, as if it were some kind of violent sport).<br />
<br />
Now, my college has always been a bit confused as to what is and what isn't as they say 'totally unacceptable'; just recently they banned people trying to give up smoking from smoking e-lites inside the building, so they have to go outside to give up smoking around a bunch of people with real cigarettes, blowing real smoke into their real faces. The reason for which still hasn't been specified, and probably never will be. Cadbury College, let me be the first to indirectly tell you that throwing snowballs is not something that people consider 'totally unacceptable'. Kicking someone in the balls is totally unacceptable; stabbing someone in the face is totally unacceptable; eating a live child for attention is totally unacceptable and a bit illegal, but throwing balled snow, unpleasant though it may sometimes be, is not totally unacceptable.<br />
<br />
It's not that I don't like my college, and I do enjoy going and everything, it's just that some of the emails we (the students) receive are a bit silly, case and point: "Beyond a certain "late" time students will not be allowed to enter a classroom."<br />
Why the hell did our vice principal decide to put late in quotation marks? As if the word 'late' is slang, or something.<br />
<br />
On that note, I'd like to propose the world's first international Snowballing league. Any takers?<br />
Poo willy bum tits.Samhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16746860373975858355noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6836604685010324224.post-19734879415116072962012-12-25T19:51:00.000+00:002012-12-25T19:51:11.754+00:00Merry Fucking Christmas!!So it's Christmas Day, and it's pretty safe to say I've had a fucking marvelous day. I've received many fantastic gifts from my family, had easily the largest and best meal I've had since the last Christmas meal I had, and I'm now sitting here, looking at my beautiful new monitor, listening to Rush through my wonderful new headphones, sipping a pint of festive spiced apple and rhubarb cider, which tastes interesting to say the least.<br />
<br />
I really do like Christmas, in case you hadn't noticed, or thought I spent my entire year being a skeptical git. Which, to be honest, I kind of do. Except around birthdays and Christmas.<br />
<br />
This isn't going to be a long post, I just wanted to wish my very small audience a merry Christmas, you beautiful motherfuckers. In a couple of days, I'm going to be getting absolutely sausaged with some friends, which will be fucking mental in the face, and then on Friday I'm going to have several very young seconds cousins in my room, which I've had to child-proof (which, if you haven't read any previous posts, involves covering up all the Swastikas and removing any metal spiky things I have lying around) which took way more work than I initially thought, but by the good grace of Thor's mighty hammer, it's worth it.<br />
<br />
May your holidays be fucking badass as all shit.<br />
<br />
P.S:<br />
A few corrections:<br />
A couple of posts back, I said Christmas was looming over us like the Burj Hotel in Abu Dhabi. That was embarrassingly wrong, what I meant was the Burj Khalifa in Dubai. There, now I don't look racist or ignorant.<br />
<br />
Also, just one correction.<br />
PenisSamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16746860373975858355noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6836604685010324224.post-84350093599992705732012-12-22T02:12:00.001+00:002012-12-22T02:12:17.938+00:00Apocalypse? More Like Apoca-Bullshit... Or SomethingSo it's December 22nd, 2012, and the world hasn't ended like the Mayans said it would. They said (along with a load of paranoid Americans) that the world would end on the day of winter solstice in the year 2012, which was yesterday; so for the past couple of years or so, people have been shitting themselves because they thought the world was going to come to an end in a spectacular explosion, or something. The Mayans even accounted for all the timezones by not giving a specific time, they just said "The 21st." In reality, very few people <i>actually </i>believed that it was Armageddon, and the four horsemen of the apocalypse were going to rise from Hell on their fire-retardant horses and claim people's soles, or rape all the women who sinned, or some shit like that, and Cthulu and Jesus' evil twin brother Horace will come and do whatever the opposite of blessing people is.<br />
<br />
The best part of this whole 2012 thing, by a country mile, is the fact that these conspiracy theorists aren't just going to give up and do something productive with their lives, oh no; they've only gone and postponed the bloody apocalypse, haven't they? It's now on September 3rd, 2015, all because they claim the Mayans made a mistake. "What? The world hasn't ended? We're all still alive? That's impossible! The Mayans said, thousands of years ago, that the world would cease to be on this very day, and it hasn't. The only logical conclusion must be that they made a mistake. It must be in 2015 or something. Yes, that's right, it's in September, three years from now. Silly Mayans." <br />
<br />
"So what's going to happen in October 2015?" You may very well be asking. Well, my inquisitive friend, the simple answer is, they're probably going to set the date back even further, like they keep doing with the rapture, so this apocalypse crap isn't going to go away for a very long time because neither are stupid people.<br />
<br />
Fuck's sake. Samhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16746860373975858355noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6836604685010324224.post-81699906754701937792012-12-19T01:47:00.001+00:002012-12-19T01:47:12.667+00:00Good God, it's Nearly Christmas!Yes, as the title would suggest, Christmas looms down upon us like the Citadel looms over City 17, or the Burj Hotel looms over Abu Dhabi, or Andre the Giant loomed over just about everyone else. In spite of this, I'm not exactly getting into the 'Christmas Spirit'. At my (dad's) house, for instance, the decorations haven't gone up yet, six days before Christmas is due to commence.<br />
<br />
The only reminders of Christmas time I have are the constant bombardment of Christmas-themed commercials on the TV and the radio, and the billboards, the bus stop posters, posters in shops, and just about every spare square inch of exposed wall in the city centre. All of which keep telling me "It's fucking Christmas, motherfucker! Just look at these motherfucking Christmas motherfucking deals, motherfucker! Christmas bargains fit for a motherfucking messiah!" and so forth. If you didn't just read that last sentence in Samuel L Jackson's voice, you should be ashamed of yourself.<br />
<br />
Christmas also means having to buy people things, which is all very well and good if you have the financial means to do so; being an unemployed student, I do not. It's a good thing my dad buys things for my family on my behalf (he does this for my two brothers as well). I'm so spoiled.<br />
<br />
There are of course good things about Christmas; receiving free shit, for a start, tearing into the wrapping paper of your first present; then there's the food, whatever it is you eat on Christmas day where you come from, I have roast turkey because I'm English and that's what we do. No it's not with chips. There are also bad things; I have to cover up all the swastikas in my bedroom, for instance, and I don't think I have that many posters to cover them with. There are laborious things, like putting up the decorations; if we didn't have any decorations, Santa wouldn't know where to put the presents, so he'd just assume we're Jewish or something and donate them to charity and we paid good money for those presents, god dammit!<br />
<br />
Christmas is also the time of year Satan gets a load of letters from dyslexic children.<br />
May you have a supremely white Christmas.<br />
<br />
P.S:<br />
I shouldn't have to tell you lot that I don't actually have a load of swastikas in my bedroom, and I'm not actually racist but I will anyway because some of you will believe any old shit, won't you? Samhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16746860373975858355noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6836604685010324224.post-78964127053208130962012-11-19T19:17:00.001+00:002012-11-19T19:17:09.849+00:00It's Been Awhile<iframe allowfullscreen="allowfullscreen" frameborder="0" height="360" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/araU0fZj6oQ" width="480"></iframe><br />
<br />
As the above would suggest, it has indeed been awhile. Since I last posted on my blog, that is, and as usual, I can't think of what to write about. This often happens, so I'm not worried. <br />
<br />
I can't seem to find much motivation to do anything lately. Maybe I need more sleep, that's what my dad would say. That's why I haven't done a blog in nearly two months. That and I can never think of anything to write about. <br />
<br />
I'm trying to listen to Shiny Happy People by R.E.M. on YouTube on a different tab at the moment and it keeps buffering, even though it's running at 360p. This is, I think, because I'm currently using my father's desktop PC, which is okay, it's a rather powerful machine with a decent processor, it's just that I'm using Internet Explorer and I'm not on an admin account so I can't download Firefox or Chrome. By the sacred wounds of the Lord Jesers Crust, this is the worst browser I've ever had the misfortune of having to use. It's slower than a dead horse with broken legs, it can't run YouTube videos without intermittantly crashing, and it keeps trying to push toolbars on me. <br />
<br />
Moving away from ranting about things I don't like, I can't quite figure out if having little motivation to do anything productive is my fault. Is it my fault that my mind keeps going blank every time I try doing anything creative? It's really off-putting. Even writing this is taking far longer than it should because I'm having to stop and think for ages every other sentence. It's also really buggering up my college work. I'm finding it really hard to write practice essays for my English A-level because I just don't know how what to write or how to go about writing it. Same goes for my UCAS personal statement. I end up writing about eight lines of text before ceasing up completely because I've forgotten everything about the subject I'm writing for. The only thing I seem to know what I'm doing in is photography, and even then I'm in two minds about it. Only one of the two teacher I have for that subject approves of my work, the other just critisizes everything I do to the point where I don't know what to do anymore. What I really want to do is take pictures of real life, not some moody black-and-white photo of a pretty teenage girl with an emo fringe and too much eye makeup with some text on it saying something like: "Why is life so hard?" or "Look, I'm pretending to cry, give me an A*!" <br />
But I can't take pictures of real life and get anything above a D, so I've had to resort to heavily editing my photos. Which I'm actually okay with because I'm making them look creepy rather than 'moody', but it's not like that hasn't been done before.<br />
<br />
I'm sure it'll pass...Samhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16746860373975858355noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6836604685010324224.post-4405390796423993002012-10-03T18:41:00.000+01:002012-10-03T18:41:14.243+01:00Lessons in Time WastingIf you attend college in England (and possibly the rest of the UK as well) you have to take what's known as an 'enrichment' course, wherein you are taught things like 'thinking' and 'reasoning' and 'critical thinking,' and the most productive of all, 'general studies' which are all things that are supposed to help you get into university. What they actually do is teach you nothing in particular that is any more helpful for getting into uni than being taught first aid. The best thing in the world, without a shadow of doubt, is doing 'extended project' in A2 (second year) because you failed thinking and reasoning in the first year because you were ill. Especially when the teacher isn't there because she seems to be permanently ill. All that happens whenever I actually attend one of these extended project sessions (to call them "lessons" would be like referring to the CIA as an "afterschool club") is a bloke called Richard takes the register, sends us all an email containing a useless document which nobody's going to take the time to read because we're all too busy trying to get an education, and a noticeable amount of time is wasted.<br />
<br />
I haven't actually been told what I'm supposed to be doing in these extended project sessions, all the documents tell me is that I can do "literally anything." Like what? At least give me some bloody ideas. I can't ask Richard because he probably doesn't really know either and all he does is takes the register and then bloody leaves. He doesn't come back. He's probably gone to make himself a cup of instant coffee with semi-skimmed milk and two teaspoons of white sugar and sit in the staffroom doing the crossword in the papers.<br />
<br />
Now, my father's been sent a letter by the college telling him that I've only been going to 20% of the extended project lessons I've been required to go to. It told him that if my attendance were to drop to below 75% by half term, I'd have to go into college on a day off, and attend an all-day session. Big fucking brass bollocks. I bet what's going to happen is I'll go to the first of my bi-weekly sessions to be told I don't have to attend for the next few weeks because my teacher, although in college and teaching English, isn't quite '100%.' Gah! Samhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16746860373975858355noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6836604685010324224.post-29954220236660195182012-09-05T19:56:00.002+01:002012-09-05T19:58:49.536+01:00Anger IssuesEveryone seems really angry these days. This could be because the vast majority of the people I know are in their late teens and at this age, you either love something, hate something, or couldn't give a shit either way. You can't quite like something, or not really like something, or be impartial to a bit of something on the odd occasion, for instance, I don't know many people who love the PS3 and also rather like the Xbox 360, they either love the PlayStation and hate the Xbox or vice-versa, the same goes for Marmite, Stella Artois, and "heavy metal" band Black Veil Brides.<br />
<br />
People always say "<i>The</i> Black Veil Brides". That's wrong. It's like saying "<i>The </i>Spider-Man" or "<i>The </i>Red Dwarf", there's no 'the'. Believe me, I hate BVB as much as the next guy but that's not the point. It's also annoying when people say "Porsh" instead of "Porsha", as it should be because it's German (about the German car manufacturer Porsche, if you don't know what I'm talking/writing about). Same goes for Asbergers. It's Ass-Burgers because it's an Austrian name and the Austrian national language is German, and in German, the letter G is pronounced as a hard G ('guh') if it precedes a vowel within a word. So nyuhh. I mean you don't say "Mer-seeds" (Mercedes), do you? <br />
<br />
Anyway, where were we? Anger, that's right. People need to stop being so angry about music that's not to their tastes; it was created for people to enjoy, and they do, so be angry about something worth being angry about, like racism, or homophobia, or Nickelback, or something. <br />
<br />
Goodness me...Samhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16746860373975858355noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6836604685010324224.post-36309604369625989632012-08-28T02:00:00.002+01:002012-08-28T02:00:31.748+01:00Silly People Are So SillyIt's okay to think Steely Dan is a solo artist if you've never heard of them. I did. It is not, however, okay to think Lynyrd Skynyrd, Pink Floyd, or Fleetwood Mac are solo artists, it is unbelievably silly. The kind of people who think this also think Adolf Hitler is still alive, they think Titanic is a work of fiction, they even think the Apollo 11 moon landings were filmed in a studio in California. Silly, silly people.<br />
<br />
I am a silly person. Silly for not liking Queen because my mum doesn't, silly for eating breakfast at 1:30 in the afternoon, silly for eating that Chinese curry which has (along with a buggertonne of caffeinated energy drinks) given me the furious shits, which isn't pleasant considering I've spent the last week or so with a colon like a game of Kerplunk - i.e.: I pull out a straw and hope I don't drop a marble - although on the flipside, having the brown mist descend gave me the unending pleasure of shitting on a largely empty beach in the Norfolk sunshine. It was messy. It's probably still there.<br />
<br />
There's nothing quite like finding a nice, picturesque, pristine sand dune overlooking a nice, picturesque, pristine beach one side and a nice, picturesque, pristine salt marsh on the other with a nice, picturesque, pristine English countryside landscape, and pouring a well-cooked bum casserole all over it. <br />
<br />
This entire post is very silly indeed, and needs to end before I lose my marbles (in more ways than one).<br />
<br />
Merry meet, merry part, and merry meet again. Samhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16746860373975858355noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6836604685010324224.post-43521481497234016042012-08-16T19:05:00.002+01:002012-08-16T19:05:45.710+01:00Day of ReckoningSo I got my A level results today. They were pretty good, considering I failed the shit out of music. Don't feel too bad for me, it's not the end of the world, I can still go back in September.<br />
<br />
Some of the systems my college have are really silly sometimes. For instance, this year my college aren't printing out hard copies of results for students, which means we can only access them online. What if a student has no internet connection? I know it's 2012 but you still can't completely rule it out. Also, their security is severly flawed, using turnstyles activated by swipe cards (something which I imagine isn't uncommon) which only work if they feel like it. Much like the students who pass through them on a daily basis. The cards themselves are disabled by the slightest crack or split in the least compromising area (my which I mean nowhere near the magnetic strip). They are silly. Very silly indeed.<br />
<br />
Not much has happened in the month since I last posted. Coffee still summons the chocolate monsoon, I still can't drive, and I've still got more useless crap than I know what to do with. Maybe I'll use them to build a glider and fly to Paradise City, where the grass is green and the girls are pretty; or Hotel California, such a lovely place.<br />
<br />
I'm running out of ideas now.<br />
Farewell.Samhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16746860373975858355noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6836604685010324224.post-75928993736507112732012-07-16T21:27:00.002+01:002012-07-16T21:27:37.078+01:00A Letter to CoffeeDear coffee,<br />
<br />
Oh, how I love you so; your ability to give me the energy to face the day; your strong, wonderous flavour, unspoiled by semi-skimmed milk and/or sugar; and your seemingly endless supply, instant or otherwise. But I have one question to ask, coffee:<br />
<br />
Why, dear God why, do you always insist on giving me the raging shits every time I feel like a hot cup of brown? Honestly, it's really annoying. I still can't figure out if instant is worse than ground, or vice versa. Even if I consume the rich, brown, almost immorally delicious nectar that you are on an empty stomach, you can turn nothing into a metric tonne of shit. How in the name of Jesus H. Tapdancing Fucking Christ do you do that? Even weapons grade laxatives have a hard time doing that.<br />
<br />
What I'm trying to say, coffee, is that you are everything I could want in a hot beverage: hot (always a good place to start), strong, brewed, rich, dark, invigorating, and fucking God damn delicious. Except you punish me (and everyone else's sinuses) for no reason. It's a shame we can't take our relationship further, it really is. Unfortunately, there's no chance of us ever having a sexual relationship because<br />
<br />
A) You're a drink<br />
and<br />
B) The human personification of the kind of coffee I like is Mr T and quite frankly I'd rather have a sexual relationship with the leftover bits of Anne Robinson.<br />
<br />
Sorry.<br />
Your's sensually,<br />
<br />
Sam x <br />
<br />
<br />Samhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16746860373975858355noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6836604685010324224.post-68664995994147862862012-06-28T01:43:00.001+01:002012-06-28T01:43:02.606+01:00I'm Full of Drugs!Jesus tap-dancing Christ it's hot in here. The windows here only open so far and the air isn't conditioned, it's filtered so it isn't being cooled, so it's hot as fuck in here. Jesus.<br />
<br />
Hospitals are boring. It's nothing like the hospitals in Scrubs or Holby City or Doctors, there's no drama, illicit sex, conflict, or even a flatline (at least not since I got here). I'm just sat in my really fucking hot room watching daytime TV and perusing the internet on this decade old laptop I've been given, waiting for a nurse to come in to fill me up with antibiotics through an I.V. line in my left arm. Either that or waiting for a different nurse to take another gallon of my blood by stabbing at any raised vein with a needle like a frightened criminal. Mind you, it's not all bad. Despite what they all say about hospital food, it's actually not that bad. I also get offered a cup of coffee every now and again. <br />
<br />
If someone tells you they're not squeamish, they're lying. They can watch all the gory horror movies, genuine gore pictures from the darkest corners of the internet, surgical videos, whatever, as soon as someone puts a 50cm wire into their arm to guide the plastic tube that's about to follow it, they'll show you just how strong-stomached they really are. When I was nine, I was admitted into the Children's Hospital in central Birmingham for I.V. antibiotics for the second time. At the time I thought I could handle anything, that was of course until I saw blood erupting from my arm like it had been holding in a piss for four hours. That still disturbs me when I think about it. <br />
<br />
Seeing my consultant tomorrow to find out if I'm being filled with the right drugs because, worryingly, nobody's quite sure. Oh well, early days.Samhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16746860373975858355noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6836604685010324224.post-7441337786649743882012-06-03T16:26:00.001+01:002012-06-03T16:26:11.751+01:00The Kitchen IncidentGreat globs of fetid milk fall repulsively into the rinser, the foul stench filling my nostrils.<br />
"Mother of fuck." I mutter to myself.<br />
I turn the tap on full power to quickly eradicate the nauseating cheese-like substance, the smell lingering like nuclear fallout. I fart to compensate, then open a window or three (and the back door) to compensate for the now overbearing smell of the gases fresh from my colon.<br />
<br />
My house smells terrible. My bedroom smells of smegma because of that 'milk', the kitchen smells of the excretions of every orifice of Beelzebub, and the clash in the middle somewhere on the stairs, is coma-inducing. If any of that potentially fatal aroma escapes into the outside world it would be classed as an act of chemical warfare; I'd be charged as a terrorist and incarcerated and tortured in Guantanamo.<br />
<br />
And I wonder why I can't pull...Samhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16746860373975858355noreply@blogger.com0