If You Could...

If anyone has a hammer to hand, please throw it at my face

Actually wait don't worry I'll get the hammer for you YEAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

Ode To A Greggs Chicken Bake

Good morning, class. Before your critical eyes judge the title alone and believe that my once-intellectual standard has diminished to the blubberings of one who's obsessed with pastry, stop. Wait. Consider the chicken bake.

Beauty cased entirely inside a perfectly square pouch. Golden flakiness springing forth from all four corners. Salty sauce-cream engulfing all senses like some sort of sexy bitch. Never before have I encountered such a marvel; such a majestic ability to, for a few minutes, remove the tortuous perils that plague us as humans through enormous sensory enlightenment.Smell! Taste! Touch! O, how I yearn for the warm filling to encase me in my own personal square pastry-land! O, the bitter disappointment when you reach Greggs at 5.55pm to find they only have cheese and onion lattices left!

'Tis here, my friends, I offer you the challenge of discovering a purer form of ecstasy (insert MDMA joke here).

I'd really like a chicken bake, if any of you got that

The Crushing Inevitability of Inevitability

Bit shit really isn't it?

I hate being utterly predictable y'know. I try very hard to avoid it but I just can't help repeating myself...

I try very hard to avoid it but.. nah only joking. Seriously though, I need a hectic transformation.

The Somewhat Fictional Character Of Wet Lindsay

Many of you may not be aware of the character of Wet Lindsay. For those that aren't edcuated in the ways of Georgia Nicolson, I'll give you a summary:

-Wet Lindsay is a drip
-Wet Lindsay has a huge forehead
-Wet Lindsay has a pathetic fringe
-Wet Lindsay wears thongs
-Wet Lindsay tries to go for full-frontal, but gets shunned and only receives a lip to corner-of-mouth
-Wet Lindsay resembles a huge, wet owl
-Wet Lindsay also resembles a stick insect with a shit fringe
-Wet Lindsay is, for sake of the summary, a lanky cunt

I am currently pondering upon the male equivalent of Wet Lindsay; let's call him Wet Brian. Here is a slightly less summarised summary of Wet Brian:

-Wet Brian is a drip. A fucking huge drip. He might draw you in a bit with broad shoulders or a buzz cut, but in actual reality, he's drippier than a rich tea held in a hot beverage for too long.
-Wet Brian lures you in with reassurances of manliness (nb; Wet Lindsay shares this similarity, with femninity. Will be discussed at a later date) such as non-commital grunts, unmoisturised skin, and a love for football or other organised sports
-Wet Brian will complain to all his mates about you being a bitch and not leaving it out, but in actual fact, he cries at you constantly for not caring enough about his secret dream of becoming a hairdresser
-Wet Brian is usually slightly overweight, leading you to believe before seeing his bare anatomy that he may be a hench bastard. This is not caused by drinking beer, as he would like you and t'lads to believe but actually from sitting on his arse and crying about his emotional issues
-Wet Brian wears clothes that you don't really like very much in colours that you don't care for
-Wet Brian resembles a huge, and usually blubbering oaf
-Wet Brian, in essence, is a massive cunt and should be avoided at all costs

Fear not. If you have a Wet Brian or a Wet Lindsay in your life, there may be some things you can do to get rid of them. These include:

-Killing them with a spade

Nah, only joking. Don't kill anyone. Erm

Subject II: Wet Lindsay's False Femininity

LADS! Don't be fooled by her seemingly saccharine love for fluffy animals and pink underwear. It's a little-known fact that females with the Wet Lindsay gene actually have predator teeth where their vaginas should be. For biting men's willies off.





This is veering off like the end of the Holy Grail so I'm just going to leave now. I'm going to be really sad if I read this tomorrow and it isn't very funny.

Full-time employment has ruined my creativity

PS. I was going to title this note 'Apparently my anger issues have subceded', but that isn't a word, is it? Jesus pissing Christ...

So yeah, I don't write these things very much any more. Mainly because I have shit all to say nowadays. I'm still an angry little man, but in the past few years it appears I've stopped caring about telling everyone about it. Not that I'm any less of an attention whore (please read my blog, add me on Bebo, look at my hat, I'm really alone and thirsty). I can just never think of funny crap to write about (hence; the only thing I can think of writing about is that fact I can't think of anything to write about. EMILY 1, CREATIVE DROUT ZERRRROOO). I used to spend hours detailing horrific accounts with fat men on the tube, spreading my tales of humourous woe around the internet like a particularly infectious strain of herpes (or syphilis, those are my two favourite venereal diseases. And incidentally veneral disease sounds much cooler than 'STI'. 'STI' is more like a shit nickname some twat called Stuart has given themselves to be different. Not dicking on any Stuarts who may be reading this. I'm 76% sure that I like all of you). But nowadays, my spare time is filled with sleeping, thinking about rubbish stuff, or watching other people do things with their life.

Marsha from Spaced once said, "Contentment is the enemy of invention,". However, I disagree. TITLE REFERENCE employment is the enemy of invention, you see. Having a job to do for 5 days out of a week makes you tired. And being tired stops you from doing things. And not doing things stops you from getting out and aboot the hoose/world and experiencing things that inspire you to write/rant/cry.

Although, actually thinking about that, when I was unemployed, I did fucking nothing because I spent my remaining money on a tattoo. Foolish.

Maybe I just got over my anger problems or got old and lost my youthful spark of creativity.

Erm, I'm reading a Viriginia Woolf book, it's well good. She knows loads of shit for a woman in the ol' times of women not knowing anything except whatever it was that women knew in those days

Mental Wanderings

Christ, I'm fucking tired, but I'm inevitably making my almost-daily, obstreperously pointless attempt to stay awake. Why? This is fucking silly. Maybe I'm about to write something incredibly perspicacious. Here's later: Emily says 'fuck' a bit more.

I keep stumbling across all these deliciously unnecessary words (see above sentence), and I'm in the mood for optimal verbosity. So here is a list of words that you should use more often: (I shan't berate you for searching for them in your dictionary. If you even have one, you fucking peasant).

-Mellifluous
-Recalcitrant
-Usurp
-Expurgate
-Ignoble
-Tart
-Plebian
-Idiom

In other news, I've just spent about half an hour reading the Wikipedia page on the word 'cunt'. I've picked some choice parts for your lesiurely perusal; however, I would highly recommend that instead of reading whatever shit I'm about to write, you read the page.

"The word in its modern meaning is attested in Middle English. Proverbs of Hendyng, a manuscript from some time before 1325, includes the advice:^[9]

Ȝeue þi cunte to cunnig and craue affetir wedding.
(Give your cunt wisely and make (your) demands after the wedding.)"

"In this sense the word is used to describe crude excess. An example of 'cunt' used as a simile to express an intense condition of bawdy, belligerent, antagonistic, or drunken behaviour, would be to describe another (or oneself) as behaving 'like a cunt'. This characterisation can be further qualified; 'like a total cunt', implying that the state of being like a cunt can have greater extremes: 'like a total shit fuck bastard cunt', for example. Such syntax though is rare."

"In nautical usage, a cunt splice is a type of rope splice used to join two lines in the rigging of ships.^[104] Its name has been bowdlerised since at least 1861, and in more recent times it is commonly referred to as a "cut splice"."

Bloody interesting.

Stereotype

I hate being right about everything. It becomes tiresome after a while.

Hellbent For Leather

I'm not actually that hellbent for leather. Someone at work is playing the Rawhide theme and that bit always sticks in my head.

I fucking hate being a talentless hack. I just spent about 5 minutes jobhunting and I now feel like I might be sick.

Guess I'm destined to be a slave to the (very) minimum wage forever... Or for the next 10 years at least. ARGH

Damage Queen

I can't stop listening to the Misfits recently. Their most recent albums with Graves etc are so fucking catchy they actually shouldn't be allowed...

I was going to title this 'Coming to terms with yourself', but A) that's gay, and B) it wouldn't be very appropriate. You all may have noticed I don't really post funny shit on here anymore, and for this I am sorry. I seem to have suffered a humour bypass as of late, and to be honest, I just can't be fucking bothered to make anyone laugh. All the shit I've posted in the past couple of months have just been random mind-spewings that I've felt unable to keep to myself. Believe me, there's a lot more shit going on up there. Just be grateful I choose not to bludgeoningly scream all that horseshit at you through the medium of blogspot.

So, onto the horseshit...

I've been feeling pretty fucking weird recently. What with coming out of a long-term relationship, moving home, getting a new job and my general inability to remain stable for a period of more than about 40 minutes, my brain seems to be a bit of a fucking mess. I suppose you would say I'm neither here nor there at the moment. I'm doing my old thing of having about 30 split personalities on the go at once. Which is pretty fucking lame as I can't seem to make up my mind about fucking anything, including which personality I'd like to have as my erm, main one. (I'm not insane?) My mind is always somewhat of a warzone, which I blame on being a Gemini (probably) but when I go through these shitty transitional periods the amount of different sides or 'faces' I have seem to be completely magnified (I'm talking overhead projector stylee here).

(I don't know at this point if I'm even making sense... Or whether it's entirely wise to post this somewhere where people I know can actually read it...)

For example, I generally have a fairly laid-back demeanour. I've never been one for jealousy or paranoia in huge doses, and I've never really had trust issues either, despite (at this point I'd advise you get out your violins or other appropriate stringed instruments) the mind-fuckery I've seemingly wandered head-first into in the past. Around the end of my relationship, things started to change. And now I feel like a bit of a Glenn Close character. But only that side of me has those attitudes and feelings. The saner, more reasonable half of me gets a bit worried when the Glenn Close half starts chatting shit to itself. Which worries me. I know a lot of people that have conversations with themselves in their head, but I wouldn't so much say I have conversations; more full blown, smash your face through the coffee table, insult your mother type arguments.

Which is just fucking weird.

For the most part, I've trained myself to keep all the delicious paranoia and emotional bullshit controlled, only occasionally allowing myself to go actually mental (which usually culminates in writing one of those two-line, rhetoric posts I like so much. Either that or banging my tiny head against a wall), and even more occasionally becoming unhinged enough to allow another person to see it. Those shit school counsellors always used to say I bottle things up too much, and whilst I can obviously see it isn't healthy to spend one day a month wanting to kill myself, I also don't think it's healthy to be constantly a-little-bit angry at everything. I'd rather get it all out in one huge, satisfying explosion (oi oi) than pick away at myself slowly. At least my way I'm alright for another few weeks before I need to explode again.

On other topics, I'm not really sure what the inspiration for writing this long-arse piece of crap was. I suppose it doesn't really matter. The crux of it is that I'm a whiny little teenager who needs to just stop, probably.

I dunno. Pub?

I Can't Wait To Hear You Scream

It's weird; I have a funny thing with confidence. Sometimes I exude cockiness and self-confidence to the point of probably annoying everyone. But I suppose part of being a woman is waking up and hating yourself now and then...

When my self-esteem takes a hit, I don't go looking for reassurance from other people. If anything, that makes it worse. It's like people are feeling sorry for you because you're ugly.


Self image is shit. We should all be square-shaped. Then everybody would have to develop a personality, not just less-hot girls.

Dazed & Confused

I can't even write anymore. Shucks.

I'll update soon, maybe. I post more on another site so that the people that my blogs are aimed at can't read them.

SNUKSNUKSNUK *HERP*

Time For A Change Is My Least Favourite Crue Song

I don't like the synth parts. They annoy me. Otherwise it would've been a mildly acceptable slush-glam-ballad.

I'm still learning that change is good. Even the bad kind of change. When these huge, life-changing events occur, you spent days worrying about how different your life will be. And you get there, and it's actually kind of underwhelming.

Still though. I refuse to let my guard down. You'll never know how much something will hurt you until you're cowering in a bin, covered in fruit peel and vaseline, crying about your lost notebook. Or child. Whatever.

The point I think I might possibly be trying to make is that transitions, change, and pastures new are good. Even though they might seem bad... You will come out the other side a better person for it.

Saying this though, I'll probably amend this tomorrow when I'm in aforementioned bin.

Sweet Lemonade

Being grown up actually isn't fun.

Don't worry.

I know I can never be that good.


Rage.

I laugh in the face of your inferior tattoos

This is my new tattoo. I love it. Credit to Antony from World of Tattoos in Ruislip Manor.

"Errrm... I want it on my arm. I like tea. Erm... And.. A bunny? Maybe?"

HECK YEAH!

NOT HECK YEAH: Post-tattoo soreness. During the act, I had my best smug face on and was like, "it don't even hurt up in here". I got home and couldn't sleep because the cling film kept sticking to my side and the rustling woke me up. God damn it.

I can't wait for my next one!