If 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 never fucking been there. 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 Jersey Shore.
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 won more military battles than we have, and surrendered to the Nazis because they wanted to preserve French sovereignty, so they unleashed the Free French 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."
Friday, 22 February 2013
Sunday, 17 February 2013
The 'Incredible' Story of a Girl Named Gerald
On 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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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 that. 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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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 that. 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.
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.
Friday, 25 January 2013
"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).
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.
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."
Why the hell did our vice principal decide to put late in quotation marks? As if the word 'late' is slang, or something.
On that note, I'd like to propose the world's first international Snowballing league. Any takers?
Poo willy bum tits.
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.
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."
Why the hell did our vice principal decide to put late in quotation marks? As if the word 'late' is slang, or something.
On that note, I'd like to propose the world's first international Snowballing league. Any takers?
Poo willy bum tits.
Tuesday, 25 December 2012
Merry 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.
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.
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.
May your holidays be fucking badass as all shit.
P.S:
A few corrections:
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.
Also, just one correction.
Penis
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.
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.
May your holidays be fucking badass as all shit.
P.S:
A few corrections:
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.
Also, just one correction.
Penis
Saturday, 22 December 2012
Apocalypse? More Like Apoca-Bullshit... Or Something
So 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 actually 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.
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."
"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.
Fuck's sake.
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."
"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.
Fuck's sake.
Wednesday, 19 December 2012
Good 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.
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.
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.
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!
Christmas is also the time of year Satan gets a load of letters from dyslexic children.
May you have a supremely white Christmas.
P.S:
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?
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.
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.
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!
Christmas is also the time of year Satan gets a load of letters from dyslexic children.
May you have a supremely white Christmas.
P.S:
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?
Monday, 19 November 2012
It's Been Awhile
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.
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.
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.
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*!"
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.
I'm sure it'll pass...
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