U.S. - British English Translator

• Antenna - Plinky-plonky radio stick
• Aluminum - Aluminininium
• Apartment - Stacked living-box
• Asphalt - Cobblestone wibble-wabble
• Attourney - Wigged bell end
• Baby carriage - Wheely-deely baby cart
• Cellphone - Magic man-talker
• Cheap - 99p
• Check - William
• Counerclockwise - Black magic
• Crib - Baby cage
• Curse word - Cunty-wunty fuck bollocks
• Diapers - Shit-towels
• Drug store - University
• Elevator - Magic uppy down box
• Eraser - Anti-pencil block
• Faucet - Drippy-droppy twizzle wetter
• Flashlight - Flishy-flashy criminal exposer
• Inexpensive - 99p
• Laundromat - Cheapo rag sudding
• Lawyer - Rich bastard
• Line - Queueueueue
• Math - Witchcraft
• Movie theater - Magic picture house
• Pants - Two legged leggy-coverings
• 'Pardon me' - 'Fuck off'
• Railroad - Longy-liney steam extravagence
• Restroom - Kidderminster
• Shopping cart - Nom-noms cage
• Silverware - Stabby-prongy nom-nom helpers
• Sneakers - Villains
• Stroller - Rolly-poly baby car
• Subway - Imminant underground explosion.
• Sweater - Itchy-scratchy rash creator
• Trash can - Birmingham
• Truck - Susan Boyle's make-up artist
• Turtle neck - Dickhead cover
• Underpass - Stabby-drug tube
• Vacation - Hiding from the authorities
• Wrench - Tinkery-tighty bollock tinkerer

We live strange lives, here in Blighty.

I've Just Had Some Fucking Jelly Babies

A lot of people say nowadays that the world is going to be fucked if we carry on as we are, polluting the atmosphere, rivers, lakes, and oceans, blowing up mountains to get valuable minerals largely for financial gain, fracking for natural gas right outside peoples' houses, and so on. Here's what I say to these people: The world is not GOING to be fucked; the world is never GOING to be fucked because the world has ALREADY been fucked by us and our wars, our greed, our relentless destruction, intolerance and ignorance of nature. The world was fucked right about the time we showed up. As for society, society died when George Carlin did.

Anyway, enough of that shit.

On a slightly odd - if concerning - note, I keep seeing discarded jeans everywhere. Not just in my bedroom (hurr), but fucking everywhere, and they're always draped over railings or fences in a suburb somewhere. I saw my first pair a couple of weeks ago in Bristol when I was staying with my Mom, a pair of perfectly serviceable blue jeans lying over a railing in the middle of Bristol. Since I've been back in Birmingham, I've seen three more pairs: one in a tree in a small woodland area next to my house and two next to each other on a fence by a bus stop that I saw on my way back from a friend's house earlier this afternoon. Whose going around just leaving jeans everywhere? Is this some kind of new cult I should be aware of? I might get in on it myself, actually, I'll even add my own little twist, leaving corduroys on top of bollards. Yeah. That'll show those... erm... Tories? Show them some of my vast collection of corduroy trousers, that is.

Fucking Tories.
P.S. I don't really own a pair of corduroy trousers.

I'm So Fucking Bored Right Now

As the title suggests, I'm really goddamn bored. So bored, in fact, that I thought I'd write a blog entry. Although, now I've started, I've absolutely no idea what to write about. I've been thinking about updating my largely ingored blog for a while now, I've just been putting it off because I really have nothing to write about. Well, I'll just have to moan about stuff again. Sorry...

See, now I can't concentrate because I keep trying to think of things to moan about, thing is, I can't think of anything to moan about that I haven't moaned about before. Like buses. I still seriously dislike public transport, but until I can drive a car, I'm just going to have to make do. The disconcerting lack of literacy skills among the general public. These people who can't tell the difference between 'there', 'their', and 'they're'. Same goes for 'your' and 'you're'. These people have been (or should have been) through full-time education, so they've got no excuse, really. "I'm dyslexic" isn't a good enough excuse. Being dyslexic is different to having bad grammar. One's a serious problem and one's dyslexia.

The Sellotape vs Scotch tape case. There's something I haven't addressed yet. Someone I know (you know who you are) seemed to think that Scotch tape and Sellotape were the same thing. While they are by definition the same thing (cellulose tape) they aren't the same thing, if you see what I mean. It's like calling all brands of potato chip (or crisp) 'Walkers' (or 'Lays' depending on whether or not you're from the UK). Some other things that I only recently found out were different things: gaffer tape and duct tape - gaffer tape can be removed cleanly whereas duct tape can't; turpentine and white spirit - turpentine is wood based whereas white spirit is petroleum based. I think you can probably tell how bored I am as I write this. I'm actually telling the internet the difference between turpentine and white spirit. I will never have another girlfriend...

I'm still bored so I'm going to continue writing because fuck you. Death metal, there's a thing. As much as I love death metal, I don't like it when some of the people I'm with go into a crowded bus shelter and start blasting Amon Amarth or Lamb of God (yes, I know, they're groove metal) at full volume. I get extremely uncomfortable when all of the people waiting inside the bus shelter glare at us because we're blasting 'Guardians of Asgaard' at full volume on a Sony Ericsson W395 (a really loud phone) and I'm dressed like a Soviet (read: cunt). I can taste the comtempt from those people. I don't like doing things that draw attention to me or the people I'm with because nine times out of ten it attracts the wrong kind. It's like when I go into town on a Saturday to do some underage drinking, we buy a crate of beer (ususally bottles of Budweiser) and fruitlessly attempt to get tipsy from the four or five bottles I manage to drink. Sometimes some people I don't know tag along, this is normally fine as long as they don't drink all the fucking beer. Sometimes someone's younger sibling comes along gets blind drunk of four bottles and thinks it's a fucking brilliant idea to throw all the empty bottles against a brick wall. And they wonder why the police keep coming...

It (Probably isn't) the End of the World As We Know it

So that's 2011 done and dusted. It's gone rather quickly, hasn't it. With the double-dip recession; the coalition; the riots in London and other major cities; the tremendously warm autumn and this depressingly mild winter.

2011's been an interesting year for me. I finished school and started college... drank quite a bit of beer... that's about it I think. I didn't make any new year's resolutions because I won't keep them. I've already done a to-do list (in August) on which nothing has been crossed off, or ticked off or struck off, or whichever of those is more aesthetically pleasing to you people (all five of you).

I'm going to change the subject because I've got nothing else to write about 2011. It was just another year, we'll have many more like it.

If there are two things people are going to remember me by after I've died; they'll be my hair, and the smell of my farts. Nothing else, not the fact that I play guitar, not the fact that I died prematurely, not this blog, not even the fact that my pubic hair is obnoxiously ginger (and when I say ginger, I mean bright fucking orange, my cock has no soul because of my magnificently orange pubes), it'll just be my 2' long blond hair and the noxious gases coming from my arsehole every so often.

There's someone who hangs around in 'Pigeon Park' who refers to me as "Blond Pubes" (this is presumably because she doesn't know my name). I've only recently told her my pubes are, in fact, ginger. She still calls me Blond Pubes...

God dammit...

I Can't Think of a God Damn Title

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I Really Need to Cheer Up.

I don't know why I bother sometimes. Having said that, most of the time I don't. Right now, for instance, I should be doing Photography coursework. Lots of it. Seriously, like several weeks worth.

Very few things I've ever done in my short life have actually worked out. It's really depressing. Mind you I can guarantee I'm not the only person my age who feels this way. What have I acheived in the past sixteen years? I ask myself. Well, let's see, I can play guitar, I grew my hair, and I managed to get into a decent college. Good, that's three things. Mind you, what did I expect? World domination? I think in order to actually acheive more in life I just need to think "Fuck how I feel, just get shit done." Because my current frame of mind is if I don't see the point in something, I don't do it. I'm behind on my photography coursework because I haven't seen any point in doing half the stuff I need to, and yet I still want to do photography. What the tits? What is wrong with my brain?

You know what? I think from now on I'm going to completely disregard my own conscience and just do shit. I'm not going to go around murdering and raping people, that's not in my nature, I mean if my conscience tells me to work out, as it does often but is swiftly ignored because I'm too fucking lazy, I'll work the fuck out. If my conscience tells me to do that God damn photography work (as it's doing now) I'll do it. If my conscience tells me to 'break into that car' or ' you see that there woman? Rape the shit out of her.' I'll seek immediate psychiatric help.

Now, I have coursework that needs doing, then I'm gonna get a coffee, then I'm gonna write a song called "GROAARRGHARHG" and then I'll probably do some pushups or some shit, I don't know.

Good day.

Accidental Buggery

Don't worry about the title, it's got nothing to do with this entry. (Ba dum tish). Right then, now for a long-winded and inconclusive blog entry about me and my sad, dull life.

Everything is pissing me off this month. Everything. I expected this to happen, I am, after all, going through puberty. So this means trivial irritants are really getting on my tits. Like my laptop's mousepad; whenever I'm typing, my thumb inadvertantly touches the pad causing it to click the mouse which stops me from typing whatever I'm trying to type. I tried to combat this by attaching a USB mouse, which I thought would render the enfuriating mousepad useless. Nope. Then there's the fact that Facebook keeps raping the CPU causing everything to freeze for a few seconds; this wouldn't be too bad if it didn't happen every two minutes, and I seem to be getting the cream of the incompetent bus drivers this week. This not helped by the fact that the road network near to where I live in Birmingham is so fucking awkward that there are two bus stops literally within a hundred yards of each other. One of which I have to get off at. So I press the stop button at the first stop which leaves me a total of ten seconds to get up, stagger down the stairs as the shitclown driver swerves past yet another horrendously parked hatchback at 40mph and get to the front by the driver as he overshoots the fucking stop again. This means I have to get off at the next stop which is down a motherfucker of a hill (as is the norm in Bartley Green).

I genuinely worry about the increasing incompetence of the people who Travel West Midlands allow to control 25 tonne, 10ft high vehicles full of people. As soon as you get onto a bus in Birmingham, you have 5 seconds to sit the fuck down before the driver finds a kerb to mount or something, and bus drivers don't seem to understand the concept of braking distance, they just wait until they're about 50 yards away from where they want to stop and then they jump on the brakes forcing everyone and everything not sat down or bolted to something to lurch forward colliding with either a metal bar or an overtly hostile Brummie.

College is going quite well, though. Except photography. I don't like the teacher, who constantly reminds everyone that they're probably going to fail. She designed a shite course, aswell, with an imperial cockton of sketchbook work and artist research with barely any actual photography. As far as I'm concerned she can go tackle a band saw.

I need a shit...