Monthly Archives: December 2011

Gotta get a dog, still

Unfortunately, Christmas Day contact with a pooch of hilarious… ness has made my desire to own a canine of the caninical variety stronger than ever. I am now trying to formulate a plan of attack for how I would be able to effectively look after a pooch of my own and not end up killing it.

Probably with a hammer (that I received for Christmas).

I work every day, I go fairly early and get back fairly late, so a puppy that needs attention is out of the question. I live in a house where the landlord is borderline insane and Very Unlikely to allow pets, so owning a pet in this flat is out of the question. Also I’m a broke-ass punk all of the time and dogs need you to invest in things for them so they don’t die, so being able to afford anything while owning a dog is out of the question.

Basically, it’s out of the question.

But I reckon there’s a way – I just need to sit down and come up with a plan. I’ll probably paint said plan, or something. But I need suggestions. I could quit my job and become a farmer, meaning not only would I be able to earn loads of money by selling my milk to Asda (don’t ask where the milk comes from) but I could make the dog a working dog and spend time with it so it wouldn’t feel neglected. Also it could hunt beavers for nutritional reasons, meaning I wouldn’t have to buy it food thus saving me time and money.

IT’S A PLAN WITH NO DRAWBACKS.

I might just build one out of soiled hammocks, though. That or re-buy Nintendogs. Hmm. There’s a way through this, I’m sure.

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Legomas

I’m only half kidding when I say I want Lego for Christmas, or at any gift-giving occasion. I mean, I don’t really want it because I’m unlikely to ever use it. The only presents I will use are things like socks, pants, mugs, coffee, food, games, hammers, dogs, beer, beef, beans, bees, beads and a few others.

But as a present, Lego is great. If I ever get into the habit of buying presents for people – likely children (not in a paedo way, I hope) – it will be Lego. Lego Star Wars, Lego Indiana Jones, Lego Pirates, Lego ALL OF THEM. Because they’re brilliant. It’s brilliant. Whatever.

Also, it’s not Legos. Stop that, Americans. Silly.

But it’s not just a nostalgic thing – Lego is genuinely great as a toy, straddling the gap between strict instruction and free creativity as it does. Make a pirate ship according to the hella long instructions, taking ages to get everything spot on and make sure it’s all spiffy and perfect.

Then when you make somewhere for the pirate ship to invade and ransack, just go a bit off-piste and make up some random shit. It’s brilliant.

And so much better than lame-ass Meccano. That stuff’s too prescriptive and – even though it can only work one way – it doesn’t even fit together properly half the time. Crap.

I got no Lego for Christmas.

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Speedwrite: GO

For some reason I’ve just set myself the task of writing this – yesterday’s blog – in the time remaining I have on this free wi-fi on the train. i.e. about seven minutes. If it wasn’t for a happy man telling me something he claimed to be a fact, I would still be in smelly old London, set to wait two hours before I could go anywhere.

It seems my newfound train-based celebrity means I get special treatment, though, and according to this man who I’ve just realised might have been trolling me on an industrial level super off peak tickets means bollock all until 2 January. I’M MAKING TIME.

Unless it was just a cheeky member of the public wearing a high-vis jacket, standing behind an information desk and calling me “sir” – then maybe it’s just a japester conning me out of the extra £40 I’ll have to pay for the ticket.

I have my phone wedged under my crotch on the seat right now. It is an odd place to put it, as there are many other places it can go. Also I’m confused about why it seems to have turned into fucking monsoon season outside, but then I haven’t actually stepped out of any kind of building or carriage for the last three or four hours oh god where am I what’s going on.

The hangover isn’t as bad as it was, though. I need to learn that “two pints” means two pints, not “sit there all night setting the world to rights and genuinely talking non-stop for about 10 minutes solid. Even if I am the most interesting person alive. Also: drunk.

Anyway, going home for the first time in three years tomorrow. There’s a blog for you. Later. For now, I only have three minutes left so I’m going on Reddit.

THAT WASN’T THREE MINUTES I RAN OUT OF TIME GODDDDD.

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Beavis and Butthead’s new series: IT’S GREAT (after one episode)

I wrote a few weeks ago of my love for Beavis and Butthead (and Mike Judge in general), and I am proud to report that on watching the first episode of the new series, I have not been let down. If anything, I’ve been let up. Is that a thing? I do not know. But I was it, regardless.

Aside from trying to be turned into werewolves (so they can score) by being bitten by a tramp (they mistake for a werewolf) who ends up giving them the whole gamut of hepatitises (hepatiti?), among other illnesses, there’s one thing that made me smile more than others. Others like Butthead mocking Beavis for 80 years because he saw the Bergkamp lookalike cry (as caused by “a vegetable thing… I think it’s an onion…”), they made me laugh but they weren’t this main point.

No, this was the commentary, by Beavis and Butthead, on Jersey Shore. It isn’t even necessarily what they said – it’s the fact that two returning cartoon characters; parodies of the idiotic MTV generation and in their day extreme examples of the idiocy of certain areas of society… well, they can mock the real life people from Jersey Shore.

They can mock them, and they can be in the right. Beavis can take the piss out of the fact one of the blokes is making an obvious, strained, bad knob gag – something Beavis and Butthead centres on – and it doesn’t feel contradictory or forced. It feels right.

Basically, real life has overtaken Beavis and Butthead on the idiotic and oblivious scale. And that makes me happy, because it can only mean good things for the rest of the series, which I will be happily giggling along to.

FIRRRRE.

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Don’t worry – it hasn’t gone to my head!!!

I know it’s pathetic, and I did take the piss wholeheartedly out of myself and the idea that it matters in any way, shape or form at all (because it doesn’t), but I did still get a bit of a thrill out of hearing Jon Snow say my name on the news. Mainly because I love the man.

But I’ll try not to let it get to me. Just like last time I was on the news – my newfound celebrity didn’t cause me to think I’m above the people who got me to where I am, even if it was mainly me that got me to where I am. And now I think of it, a lot of the people I call ‘people’ aren’t actually that peopley.

No, they’re more like plebes, or filthy little animals. I mean, I can still thank those who are on my level for all the help and moral support provided. But then I think about that, too, and realise that I there isn’t anyone on my level – I have no equal. And as I’m always morally superior to everyone else in the world, moral support becomes irrelevant.

I mean, I could thank anyone, but that would be stupid. What’s the point in thanking these idiots when they never did anything for anyone else? It’s all my skill – my natural qualities – that have made it so I’m a worldwide (and wholly worthwhile) celebrity superstar. I am literally the best person in the world and I am entirely self-made in this respect.

You idiots should be thanking me for not having charged you all of your money – which won’t be very much because you’re all poor scumbags – to even glance in the direction of this blog. You damn ingrates. I can’t believe you’d plot against me like this, trying to steal my blog, my words, my very way of life.

You’ll see. You’ll all see. My finger’s on the big red button. Just you try and come for me. Try it, and see what happens. I fucking well hope you like fireworks.

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Kim Jong-Il: dead, hilarious bastard

Well, he’s dead. The most hilarious-yet-horrifying person the world has ever seen* is no more. Taken from us while on his ridiculous armoured train he travelled the world** in. According to the people You Can Trust, he suffered megadeath as a result of overworking himself physically and mentally, trying to bring stability and prosperity to the nation he loved***.

Kim Jong-Il is dead. No longer with us. Deceased. He is an ex-dictator. Shuffled off this mortal coil.

Now, Gadaffi I didn’t much care for: he looked weird, he waved like a girl, he was clearly a complete knob. The other bastard killed this year wasn’t a dictator per se, but Osama Bin Laden was in fact a poopy head. He never did much for me, truth be told.

But Kim Jong-Il always amused me. Not to be that guy****, but I was well into him before Team America made him cool. There was just something about him. He didn’t carry himself well. He didn’t look like a statesman. He didn’t look evil. He didn’t look like a complete fucker. He didn’t look like much of anything, except for an overgrown baby with absolutely stupid hair.

And that’s why he was so great. I mean, granted, he caused the pain, suffering and deaths – directly and indirectly – of thousands, possibly millions. He was, by all measures of a man, a complete cunt. But how on earth could you ever stay mad at Kim Jong-Il when he did things like what I did write about a year and two weeks ago?

How can you be mad at someone who appears in a picture like that, even if they do engage in nuclear sabre-rattling? How? I have no idea.

You deserved to die, Kim Jong-Il, though I’m not sure if the world will be a better place with your fat, Swiss-educated son in charge*****. But I for one will miss your weird-shaped body and fucking stupid hair.

*Apart from Jeremy Beadle

**Some of the world, at least

***”Violently raped for nearly two decades”

****I’m always that guy

***** No comment

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How to write succinctly, part one

How to write succinctly, part one:

There are some things you really can’t put into brief snippet headlines, and that’s one of them. In the case of me, it’s most things: I am nooo a good person when it comes to writing briefly or succinctly.

In fact, I was once sacked from a copywriting job (read: horrible advertising shit) after less than a day for not being able to… do it. I just can’t make my brain boil things down enough to their constituent parts.

Alright then, I can sometimes – I’m not clinically dumb. It’s just a bit of a struggle, and seems to be harder for me than it is to just churn out par upon par of nonsense shit like I am doing right now. “Par” means “paragraph” – are we learning yet?

Anyway, there’s no unifying theme to this here blog. I just saw that headline a few minutes ago and it made me laugh, and I wanted to put it on here but justify it by putting some text along with it.

And now you know. And now I’m done, I can eat and play videogames in my pants (I’m not in my pants it’s too cold for that).

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