Summer summer summer time… ish

I would complain that the sky has decided to do that thing it always does in Bournemouth where it defies all reasonable logic of seasons and goes ‘well warm’, but there’s no point.

See, while the idiots (“people” you might call them) are out in force, socialising and wearing shorts and not putting even flimsy hoodies on and having barbeques and abusing the beach facilities and generally pretending it’s summer out there when it’s not, I’m not that stupid.

See, it’s only about 15 degrees out there. That’s not even hot enough to bake a cake on the ground outside. You may think it’s ‘nice’ and ‘worth going to the beach for’ but you’re wrong, because lots of people will have thought that and do you know what lots of people lead to? Crowds. You know what’s rubbish? Crowds. I have many more reasons you’re stupid and wrong and shouldn’t go out, but I’ll leave them for now.

Sure, some could say this is the embittered deflection technique of a man who has, through his own choice admittedly, been forced into staying indoors all day so that he can get work that needs to be done done. And sure, he might actually not mind it that much because once the work’s done he can play Mass Effect 3 and who cares about talking to real people when you can take Crispy Shepard flying around the galaxy huh?

And yes, this same person might have shot some jealous glances at the ‘youngsters’ gallivanting around in their summery clothes pretending they actually like each other and are going to have fun and… oh.

I don’t even want to go outside and play. I’m just mildly irked because I feel I have to stay inside. That’s a metaphor for the right to live free, or something, right there.

And now I have it in my head all the Daily Mailbots claiming prisons aren’t punishments and are easy and fun and it’s definitely not horrible to have your freedom taken away from you and… sigh. Back to work.

I would like idiotic housemates to stop slamming and stamping, please thanks

There are a fair few things I don’t understand about Other People, and most of these things pop up when around housemates. I say ‘around’ as if I spend any time with them at all – perish the thought. I don’t know them and I don’t want to know them.

Mainly because of all the things I don’t understand about them, obviously.

I don’t understand why people feel the need to allow doors to slam. Doesn’t the loud noise startle them in some way, or make them think that maybe, just maybe, it might annoy other people in the house? Similarly, I understand even less the prannocks who slam my fucking front door every time they go out and my word I want to stab them to death with shards of the broken door whoever it is that keeps on slamming them leaves behind.

I mean… umm… it’s a little bit irriating.

Then there’s the cupboard slamming. I mean, once is bad enough, but why is it every time someone does it they have to do it four, five, six times in a row? And why does that prick down the road always have to idle his Very Loud car outside his house for about ten minutes before driving off? Prick.

AND WHY DO PEOPLE WALK SO LOUD?

So basically I don’t understand slamming. Or loud cars that don’t immediately go away. Or people who walk with stampy feet. Maybe it’s a need for attention. Which shows I crave no attention, as I quietly close every door I go through and basically sneak in place of walking.

That’s not on purpose, I’m just part ninja. THE BEST PART.

Humanity dies thanks to one numpty with a badge

Turns out the apes took over not because of any intelligent plot, their power or sheer numbers. It wasn’t the surprise, it wasn’t that we were too arrogant or that our hubris played its part exactly as it should. No, it was because some stupid security man said “HE’S DEAD” instead of actually checking if what he was saying was dead, was dead.

Idiot went and brought about the destruction of human society as we know it, leading to a world of enslavement at the hands of super-intelligent apes.

I’m not on about Rise Of The Planet Of The Apes, mind you. I’m on about Conquest Of The Planet Of The Apes, which is on right now and has almost as bad a title.

Ordered to execute super-smart chimpanzee Caesar, a security man at the monkey slave facility makes two utterly fucking stupid mistakes. One, he doesn’t look at the meter measuring amps (which isn’t moving because the electrocution device has been turned off at the mains by a human sympathiser) and so believes the device to be working fine. Two, on electrocuting a chimp, as we’ve all done at some point in our lives, he declares it dead simply by looking at it for about a second.

Now, I’m not a monkey doctor. I wish I was, but my career path took an unfortunate turn aged about seven. But without any monkey medicine training I know that just looking at a chimpanzee in a jumpsuit for a matter of seconds would not be enough to ascertain whether or not it was alive or dead.

Well, maybe if it was alive, but definitely not if it was dead. At least check its chimp-pulse, for fuck’s sake.

I mean come on man – you’ve caused the downfall of the entire human race. You’re like the gunner on the Star Destroyer who doesn’t shoot the escape pod with C3PO and R2D2 in it: you have the most important role in the entire film, and you did bad. Very bad. Idiot.

Help for the hindering

Let’s give a shout out to those people who never get shouted out to – those that go through life sort of expecting thanks, but never really getting it. The people that you try to ignore and forget about, but they stick there in your mind, annoying you to your very core every time they pop back up again. I’m talking, of course, about people who try and help when there’s no need for them to try and help.

I still get infuriated every time I remember the guy who stepped in after I’d been trying to make an epileptic man not crack his skull open on the pavement for 10 minutes. “I’m my office first-aider,” he said, “give him some space – don’t pin him down”. Well, fat boy – I wasn’t pinning him down. I am not a moron. He needed something to cushion the repeating bashing of his head on concrete, that being my hand. Hence the not giving him space thing.

He thought he was helping, he thought he was being the big man on campus. He was not. So I’d like to send out my massive thanks to that particular pile of idiotic poop. The best of intentions don’t make up for the fact you’re a moron, mate. And if you’re the work first-aider, the minute something bad happens it’s clearly going to be 9/11 Part II: 9/11 In Space.

Alright, so I’m failing to think of many more examples beyond the usual meddling old women who seem to be everywhere in Bournemouth. But you get the point. If you’re going to help, please actually help. Don’t just be an obstacle that thinks it’s helping things flow smoothly, you gimps.

No idea where this came from. Hmm.

For all of my adoring fans

The internet is a “wonderful” place, allegedly. It has actually helped me a great deal, and is a fine place for anyone and everyone to do things and show them to the world. Part of these ‘things’ I have done has been writing for numerous websites, as you probably know or have guessed. I’ll save it for another day to write about the places I have written for, as today I would like to talk about another thing that makes the internet unique and “wonderful”. The ability for just about anyone to make instant, mostly-uncensored comment on everything I have ever written. It’s bloody brilliant.

I have been accused of plagiarism for having a similar opinion to another games writer person, I have been insulted, patronised and generally besmirched in many ways*. I can’t say “I wouldn’t have it any other way”, but I can say I don’t mind it that much – especially as they can be so bloody funny. So let’s just take a look at some of the real, genuine, actual comments that people have made on things I have written (all from Hecklerspray, natch, as I can’t be bothered sifting through the other things):

“This is ridiculous. How dare you make such harsh and unforgiving comments about the interview when katie price was obviously devastated about losing a child.”

“listen im a 10 year old but ive got some gob on me okay and im smart enough to figure you idiots out!”

“if “hecklerspray” believes that retarded
Austrailian tabloid then they are a bunch of
bimbos.”

“Obviously the asshole who wrote this article knows zilch about acting…
Robert Pattinson is a great actor and I’d like to see you try to portray a tortured artist or a man trying to find his identity from a young age in How To Be….

Obviously he is a fantastic actor seeing as he’s getting really good movie roles, your opinion on this article is biased and a load of bull…”

“Haha

Bet ur lovin the conflict uv caused ian lol
Personally i think u can hav ur own opinion & no1 shud rly care

I just think ur a bit pathetic”

And of course, all of these I quoted all those ages ago (they’re funnier than these, I didn’t want to re-use them here).

I do so love the internet.

*Some have even been supportive.

I love people

As linked to me by my wonderful girlfriend Anna, this group does indeed exist on Facebook: linky. Now, far be it from me to be judgemental or anything, but that’s just absolutely piss funny. The way in which the internet encourages open forums of public discussion means we get to see people at their absolute finest. No longer do they have to hide behind the walls of their homes, scattered throughout the world and unable to congregate in one place to voice their… “considered” opinions. No, the world of the internets let these wonderful people come together and not listen to things before commenting on them.

For example, this group covers the ‘fact’ that the police are about to ban the wearing of England football shirts in pubs, to cut down on football-based violence in pubs. This story comes from, unsurprisingly, The Sun newspaper. Granted, the first half of the story is heavily weighted in favour of putting forward the notion that England shirts will indeed be banned, but anyone who bothers to read for an extra three seconds will see the actual story. I’m not having a go at The Sun – all papers write stories in this way.

No, I hate people. They’re idiots. The story is about a letter sent to pubs in Croydon, suggesting they instigate a dress code during the World Cup banning all football shirts – a pretty standard rule in a lot of pubs for all of the year, not just at footie tournament time. They also suggest plastic cups and door staff – so why no Facebook groups complaining that the police are banning glass? That all doors will have staff on them from now on?

No. We’ll read a headline and judge from there. It’s the British way. I’ll be wearing my England shirt and George Cross helmet with pride this summer.

Shared housing? More like SHIT housing. HAHAHAHA

Shared housing is a big bag of sweaty balls (sometimes literally, depending on how many men you live with), and I don’t like it. I still have to do it, because otherwise I wouldn’t be able to afford the beans I like so very much, nor the fake Pot Noodles. It’s an unfortunate situation, but as soon as I’m not crippled by debt I may be able to get my ass out of there and away to somewhere where I can actually live how I want to without some pathetic, petty nonsense causing someone to complain at me.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not talking about living with friends here – I don’t really class that as shared housing per se. Though it does come with its own problems, it’s nowhere near as bad as the minefield of fury that is living with, as they say, “randoms”. The main reason for this is quite obvious – I could go into details of individual examples, but that would be boring and irritating. For me. The main reason is this: random people are exactly the same as strangers, strangers are members of the public and – as we all know – members of the public are contemptible shrews of humanity. Boring, devoid of positive elements of their so-called personality, petty, ugly and stupid. Very stupid. Basically, it all boils down to this.

Oh wait, I live in shared housing. Damn.

Sorry this entry’s a bit phoned-in today. Lacking any drive to rant/joke about anything and I only have one hand to type with. First person to make a wanking joke wins the prize.

P.S. I feel a bit daft about yesterday’s entry, as it turns out this weekend has been one solely comprising of ITV coverage. Curse you, FA Cup. You mean my praise of Sky was less relevant than it should have been, and that I had to put up with Tyldesley saying clubs should have some kind of long throw training, and that he was surprised clubs didn’t have players capable of long throws, aside from Stoke. The man is a fucking dillweed.

Death and Facebook

Not to go all grim on yo’ asses, but it’s something I’ve been thinking about today. My Aunt died just before Christmas, and in a bout of morbid curiosity I decided to check out her Facebook page – something she hardly ever used when she was still alive. Now, I’m not the most sensitive of people – hard to believe, I know – but I have a nugget of tasty advice for any people posting on the Facebook wall of someone deceased: clench. Clench really hard. Clench so hard your face turns red and your veins start popping out. Clench like you’ve never clenched before. Clench as if a torrent of diaharretic plague-bearing rats are about to come out of your anus in a cascading shitterfall of diseased faecal vermin and you’re the only one in the world that can stop this tragedy from being unleashed purely through the power of clenching. Maybe then – just maybe – the pressure you exert will create enough stress inside that empty space in your skull to force one brain cell to *pop!* into existence. Maybe two, which would mean you’d be able to rub them together to pass the time, rather than posting inane, meaningless comments on a fucking dead woman’s Facebook wall.

And that’s before I even get to those who mindlessly posted the usual ‘play this game’ or ‘so-and-so threw a snowball at you’ shit. You people need to have a sit down and seriously think about your life. Ah, sorry, correct that one: you need to sit down and have a serious “HNNNNGH DUUUUUUHHHH” about your life.

I am being a bit harsh, I know – it’s a combination of people not really thinking about it but wanting to show their sympathy to the family, people simply not knowing and people not paying enough attention to untick a name when they send these pointless superwall things to everyone on their friends list. But there are easy solutions:

1. Send flowers, or even a card. If I managed to do it, so can you – and it’s more fucking heartfelt than spelling someone’s name wrong when you’re telling them to rest in peace on their Facebook wall.

2. Stop spamming people with those nonsensical, utterly shit widgets, games, addons and other nonsense that takes over the site.

3. Don’t gift my dead Aunt a duck for Farmville. If we’re being honest she won’t be needing it.

4. Don’t search for the exact title of your blog post to find an image for it, as it will only lead you to discover that someone else did a very similar, identically-titled post a few months ago and it will make you feel like an unoriginal bell-end.

And on that note, I apologise both for the fact that I have talked about death today, and for the fact that I haven’t even talked about games yet.

Good day,
xx