Monthly Archives: October 2011

Yeah, I just don’t get it

I am constantly amazed by the ability for people to be drawn in by what they are told to be true. I work in games, whatever that means, and there’s a lot of shit in it. I mean, a lot.

Naturally none of it matters in the real world, but it doesn’t stop people – myself included – from getting worked up about it. Mainly because we’re all a bunch of pathetic nerds who really should get a grip and realise there are more important things in the world to rant about*.

Anyway, arguing is great and all that – especially on the internet where everyone is fair and focused and mature and listens and all that. But there’s some things I just don’t get, and in gaming they really hit hard.

People, like you or I, are told things by publishers. Publishers are out to make money from people like you or I. Yet people, like you or I, take what these publishers say at face value as 100% true. I won’t go into the details as I’ll end up ranting, but it basically involves ‘we want more money, let’s extort our customers’, then telling said customers it’s for their own good.

Yet when you call out publishers on this bullshit, who comes to their defence? The people being shafted by them. It’s a brilliant system, and reminds me a lot of politics – tell the people what you want them to believe until they start believing it. Simple, effective, fucking annoying.

Anyway, yeah, back to sorting out the real ills in this world. That, or getting a yoghurt.

*That’s actually bollocks. While there are many things more important, that doesn’t discount people from getting worked up about problems with/in/around gaming. Just because you whine about one thing doesn’t preclude you from whining about another. Life 101 for you there. Just because I’m complaining about online passes doesn’t mean I don’t give a shit about starving kids. I am aware of perspective. I am also aware of the ability to have opinions on more than one thing at once. Crazy, I know. Sigh.


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Powerthirst 4, in a way

Some people really are determined to take all the fun out of getting high. Legally high, that is. We all know they’d never take the true joyous glee that is cooking up your next smack bindle (that’s what they’re called) to tit off in your flagglewanging (more knowing drug-speak, sorry).

First they invented energy drinks – I still remember not knowing what the fuck Red Bull was. I still don’t – and nor do the people who make it, seeing as they don’t really know what taurine or ginseng do. Anyway, it seems Pure Energy distilled into a small can wasn’t good enough, so they invented tiny energy shots.

Waste of time, waste of point. Ruins the whole ‘getting a drink and gratuitous amounts of energy’ thing.

Seems even that much liquid is too much, if this thing here is anything to go by.

Yes, it’s inhalable caffeine. You just take a huff of it and get ‘as much as a large cup of coffee’. But the thing is, I still want my coffee. Even if I’m in a rush/on the move/those other things that real people do in their business jobs in their business suits and business ties – even then I still want coffee.

Because coffee is bloody delicious and lovely and amazing and if I could marry it I would. I would marry the shit out of coffee. I think I’ve had too much coffee today. If you’re at a loss as to what you should get me for Christmas, just get me some nice coffee.


1 of 14 catch-up entries to go.

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The fire and the fury

I attempt to govern my mind with cold, hard logic most of the time. Unfortunately stupid things like emotion and blind prejudice get in the way and make me react in a way that isn’t quite what you would call ‘logical’.

In fact, there are a number of things that I react to with blind, unfeeling fury. If I could be violent towards these things and concepts, I probably would be. Alas, I cannot. And they get to go on existing and people get to go on liking them even though they’re shit. See:

Rugby. ‘The thinking man’s sport’, as a few of our PE teachers used to call it. It is not a thinking man’s sport, it is a sport for either northern apes or toff apes (also: the Welsh) to run into each other and pretend anything they do has any point to it. It is enjoyed by people who do not enjoy good sports, and I used to get hurt every. Single. Time. I played it at school. Bag of shit.

It’s not so much the act of skiing that fills me with The Rage, more the fucking evangelists for it. They sit in the same realm as Mac zealots for sheer bloody-mindedness. “You’ve never been skiing? Oh, you simply must! All you have to do is spend all of this money on transport and accommodation – and then, seeing as you’ve never been skiing before, you’ll have to get equipment and clothing and training and break your leg and it’s okay because we can sit in the lodge and get boozy with all the other over-privileged twats out there on their gap years!” God I hate skiing.

Clothing that costs lots of money
You pay for what you get. Having said that, I’ve been wearing a pair of shoes that cost four (4) pounds for a couple of weeks now and they haven’t fallen to pieces, nor have my feet exploded. I just saw a deal on Hot UK Deals to get £25 off any item at Jaeger. Initially I thought this meant booze. It did not. It meant hideously, hideously overpriced shirts, trousers and cashmere sweaters. There’s nothing wrong with buying clothing that’s well made and looks nice, even with paying a bit extra because you know it’s going to last. But the fact that people will happily, blindly walk into the situation where they’re spending loads on something they could get for a fraction of the price elsewhere just because they’re too lazy, stupid or wrapped up in the concept of ‘prestige’ pisses me off no end. I am a TK Maxx enthusiast – I make no apologies for this.

Anything vaguely posh at all
That is basically what I’m saying here. I have a real chip on my shoulder when it comes to posh things, and it’s quite clearly massively down to jealousy. I’m being serious there, by the way – I can wrap it up all I want in pseudo-intellectual ramblings about ‘status’, ‘born into opportunity’ and ‘unfair leg-ups’ or whatever else. The fact of the matter is I want a starring role on Made In Chelsea.

That, or £10 million would be nice.

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Beep.. beep… beep…. beep….. beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

The warning signs were all there – I’ve seen enough episodes of Casualty to know what’s going to happen. If you’re dicking about, someone, at some point, is going to fall through a conservatory/get hit by some cars/otherwise get fooked up.

There I was, dicking about with files I shouldn’t have been dicking about with on this very laptop. I was trying to do something, and doing something required… well, dicking about. Did I mention I was dicking about?

Safe to say, the wrong thing was moved, the even wronger thing was replaced and the wrongest thing was deleted. One restart later and this – my workhorse, my rock – was dead. Flatlined. DOA. An ex-laptop. Shuffled off this mortal (computer) coil.

But why dial 999 when you can perform surgery at home? That’s something I’ve always lived by. Well, no – that’s a lie. I’ve not always lived by it at all. In fact, nobody should live by that philosophy as it’s stupid.

Oh wait – it was a hasty metaphor for the ‘surgery’ I was to perform on my cadaver of a lappy. The hands were washed (“grounded”). The surgical tools removed from their sterilising chamber (“found my toolkit”). Theatre was in session.

And might I say, I’m damn good at this stuff. Everything electrical I’ve tried to fix in my life has ended up fixed. Everything I’ve tried to upgrade or otherwise augment has worked.

Well, aside from that one pad that just wouldn’t stay fixed, but shut up. It was a tosser that deserved to die (“be sold on eBay”) anyway.

It’s had me thinking I might just start breaking things on purpose so I have to sit around tinkering and fixing them.

Though that would be really fricking stupid, so I probably won’t.

Anyway, the computer lives again. Even if it is some kind of unholy zombieputer held together with voodoo and hope. LIVE! LIIIIIIVE!

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Gervais, mong and about 800 words about it

I know you’ve been waiting for some kind of opinion on this whole Ricky Gervais saying ‘mong’ thing, what with me being both a prolific social commentator and the kind of person you all turn to for the base on which to form all of your own opinions. So here are some words.

A bit back – I can’t be arsed checking exactly when – Ricky Gervais, ‘the best comedian in the world’, decided he was going to come back to Twitter. He left a bit bit back – I can’t be arsed checking exactly when – for some reason – I can’t be arsed checking why. He came back and he started using the word ‘mong’.

Mong, if you’re not aware, is a disparaging term used to make fun of people with Down’s Syndrome. I used to call my brother a mong when we were kids. He would call me a mongoloid from Mongolia. Everything would be ‘mongy’ or ‘monged’ or ‘mong the merciless’ or whatever else.

Basically, it’s a word I know of and a word I used a lot in my earlier days. Still do, sometimes, very rarely, and when my brain isn’t thinking. And you know why? Because it’s still not a very nice thing to say.

Now, Gervais is saying he’s ‘reclaiming’ the word… yeah, you’re just as black as those that reclaimed nigger, or just as gay as those who reclaimed faggot and queer. Definitely exactly the same situation there, and certainly not just a man shouting a word because it gets a reaction from people. That’s not an argument, it’s not a leg to stand on – it’s a lie. It’s a hasty protection constructed to deflect criticism and make people think ‘oh, it’s all a hilarious ironic jokey satirical humorous take on society at large, the taboos we all face on a daily basis and our general humanity, as well as the changing face of morals and what is acceptable through the ages’.

Well, that or it makes them think they should call people who disagree with Gervais a mong.

There has been a defence mounted of ‘freedom of speech’ and whatever else, and to echo Richard Herring – I’m all for that. I’m all for talking about anything and everything. I’ve gone on before – very recently in fact – about how everything is funny or nothing is funny.

But that doesn’t mean it’s funny just because you say it.

When I was a kid saying mong I said that word because I knew it wasn’t a nice word to use. When I said it it was because 1) it wasn’t swearing so I was allowed to say it, and 2) it was mean, nasty and insulting. Just like whenever my parents were out of earshot I would swear, because I knew it was bad, I knew it would draw reactions from those around me.

I knew it would get attention.

Just like now when I make jokes about questionable subject matter, from paedophilia to racism and everything inbetween – it’s to get a reaction, nothing more. I know why I do it, and I don’t defend it as being some higher cause I’m pursuing.

I don’t lie to myself, I don’t lie to my fans, I don’t lie to those that try and question what I’m doing and I don’t spend my time – with the massive influence I have – trying to make people restart using a word that had fallen by the wayside with good reason.

I’m going on a bit here, but it has annoyed. I’ve long held the belief that Ricky Gervais isn’t as talented as people think, and his shock-schtick wore thin pretty much the first time I heard it. It’s never done with subtlety or class. There’s never anything clever about it – it’s just saying the words. There’s never any deeper meaning to it – it’s just trying to get a reaction.

That’s simplistic, cynical and – worst of all, from a comedic standpoint – lazy. If you want to ‘reclaim’ the word mong, do so in a way that has some intelligence and point behind it, not just because you’re the loud kid begging for attention. I wouldn’t want to have to shout you down as a faggy, mong-faced nigger now, would I?

But hey, what does my opinion count? I’m not worth millions and in loads of films and stuff, so clearly everything I say and think is irrelevant.

This’ll do for the send off:

Oh, and those slating Herring for his Hitler Moustache routine are brilliant. It couldn’t be further from an attention-grabbing stunt if it tried (alright, maybe it could be a bit further, but you get the point):


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Rantington McRantley XIV

I think it’s finally happened – I’m all ranted out. At least for today.

Whereas in a normal day I will have at least one rant, on average 12, today I had at least 12 rants, probably more like 43. Nothing I was ranting about actually mattered, obviously, but then if what I was ranting actually mattered it would probably make me very sad, rather than just angrier and angrier.

Whether it be people having the Wrong Opinion, people having the Wrong Opinion or people having the Wrong Opinion, there seemed to be plenty to get het up about today. I was especially narky at the person who had the Wrong Opinion.

The Wrong Opinioned idiot.

Fortunately I am not one to hold grudges, apart from against people who deserve them (you know who you are, and you probably don’t read this so I can probably call you what I want and you’d never know oh the feeling of power that’s just washed over me is incredible… but I won’t because I’m nice).

What this means is that while tomorrow people will still be walking around having had the Wrong Opinion at me today, I’m willing to let them start again and re-Wrong at me tomorrow. This allows a fresh rant and to keep relationships both spicy and interesting.

I might even have a minor rant about the Gervais/mong thing tomorrow. Bet you and the millions of other readers of this very important blog can’t wait!

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Here is a joke I saw on Reddit, as found by some other schmo in the world. It is all you get today, but I think it is more than enough as it is exactly the kind of thing that makes me laugh:

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