You know, they say that when you have absolutely no bloody clue about what you should write, you should try doing some free writing. I'm not entirely sure who 'they' are, but what I do know is what free writing is. It's when you don't censor yourself and you just sort of let words pour forth from out of your brain and onto your computer. It's a bit like freestyling, except with far, far less street cred.
The reason that I'm doing it is that for the last few weeks I haven't had a single solitary clue about what the hell I should write. I've kept the whole sports blogging stuff ticking over as, frankly, it is ridiculously easy to mock the sporting world. But in terms of other, actual writing? Forget about it...
I currently have three books which are really not doing a whole lot. One is finished and just needs some early chapter edits before submission to the editor, one is 30,000 words in and needs some extra early early chapters pumped in to it as it is apparently bad form to start your main 'call to arms' half way through the second chapter, and one which is 11,000 in, but is serious and I can't make dick jokes in it. That means that my entire vocabulary runs out at around the 11,000 words mark. Well, frankly if I can't make jokes I run out of words at around the 11 mark, but we'll ignore that.
Then you get to here, where I generally spend each Tuesday, Thursday and Sunday sitting around scratching my chin looking at a blank page for a few minutes, then switching off by computer and trying hard to crack the top 10,000 lap times around Road America in Forza 3. I've lost my mojo a bit, frankly.
On top of that I have a script which has about two scenes finished and a lot of scribbles on a white board, college applications which are sat unfilled on my desk and a 'To Do' list which is off the bottom of my white board and onto Postit notes.
So, has all of this helped? Well.... no, frankly. I still have absolutely no clue how I'm going to structure new opening book chapters, no idea how I'm going to introduce 3 more characters in a script, no idea how I'm going to write an entire book without making dick jokes and no idea how I'm going to shave 7 seconds off of my Forza 3 lap time. Still, at least I got a Thursday blog posting done...
Thursday, 22 April 2010
Thursday, 15 April 2010
The Folk You FInd In Pubs
I spend an awful lot of times in pubs. Well, to be honest, I spend an awful lot of time on the floors of pubs drunk as a skunk, as that is the way I roll. Anyway, through my times in pubs I've noticed that there are always a few certain stereotypes of people. Here are some of them.
The You're Wrong I'm Right Guy
Usually, The You're Wrong I'm Right Guy spends a disproportionate amount of his time in a pub. He will generally have one favourite pub where he spends most of his time and is probably so close with the landlord\landlady that he mows their lawn. As a normal, and sober, person he is probably a great guy. Thing is, when he gets a few drinks down his neck all of a sudden he is the font of all knowledge and his barstool is his soapbox. Got an opinion on politics? Wrong. Got an opinion on sport? Wrong. Explaining how something works to someone? Wrong. Talking about a historical event? Wrong. You see where this is going? Well, if you do see where this is going then The You're Wrong I'm Right Guy would still say you were fucking wrong. Without a word of a lie, I have heard one You're Wrong I'm Right Guy walk up to two people talking and say “No, that's complete rubbish. By the way, what are you guys talking about?”
The Middle Aged Ho
Ahh, The Middle Aged Ho... is there a more beautiful thing? People seem to be of the opinion that any trace of sexual promiscuity in women just sort of stops around the age of 30. Well, that isn't really true. If you look around any pub, there will always be at least one woman in there who is well into her middle age and doing some old school sleeping around. Maybe she is a recent divorcee, maybe she has just always been single or maybe she is having an affair. Either way, if you look around any pub then there will be at least one woman who you would never, ever think of as a a sexual being sat there macking with some different guy each and every week. It happens, and it is as disturbing as it is hot. You know you'd hit it at any rate.
The Drunken Gangster
Some people, when they get drunk, start to talk a little bit of rubbish. Usually it is just a bit of exaggeration and boasting, the way that drunken people do, but every now and again a drunk dude will let slip a dark secret – he is a gangster! Oh yeah, he is a real bad ass... he totally knows a guy who killed a guy, totally knows people who sleep with shotguns by their beds and has totally been lucky himself not to do serious time. When I was a kid, a few people did say things like “Don't mess with me, my brother knows people who have killed someone” and, at the time, it was an absolutely terrifying prospect. Then, of course, we all grew up and realised that only a tiny amount of people actually know these random killers who are walking the streets and shopping in Sainsburys. Still, The Drunken Gangster is totally one of those people. The only thing, though, is that all of his hardcore, gang banging knowledge comes from films and TV. If he wants to boozily explain how to dispose of a body, he will just quote Snatch word for word. If he wants to explain how to run a scam, then it will be something like Casino. This, though, does open up one of the best opportunities in life – quote the next line of the film they are referencing. Oh, it's great fun – you have this drunken dude quoting a film like it is his own original idea, and then you quote the next line. It is the stuff that dreams are made of.
The Eternal Mother
Lets face it, pubs, bars and clubs are all places in which people generally make a tit of themselves. They will either flame out with someone they want to bang, get drunk and fall down or fight. It is just the way it is, accept it. The Eternal Mother knows this, and will always be there to clear up the wounds. Need some reassurance? Well, then The Eternal Mother will be there to give you a hug and a pep talk. Two big guys about to kick seven shades of shit out of one another? Well, The Eternal Mother will bravely step into the middle of the battle and scald them both with a mother's tone in order to regain some order. Drunk? Then The Eternal Mother will sit you down in a corner with a big glass of water and make sure you know you're making a tit of yourself. Indeed, The Eternal Mother is like a guardian angel, hovering over all those within the pub world and taking care of everyone under her charge. For the love of god, buy your pub's Eternal Mother a drink tomorrow!
The You're Wrong I'm Right Guy
Usually, The You're Wrong I'm Right Guy spends a disproportionate amount of his time in a pub. He will generally have one favourite pub where he spends most of his time and is probably so close with the landlord\landlady that he mows their lawn. As a normal, and sober, person he is probably a great guy. Thing is, when he gets a few drinks down his neck all of a sudden he is the font of all knowledge and his barstool is his soapbox. Got an opinion on politics? Wrong. Got an opinion on sport? Wrong. Explaining how something works to someone? Wrong. Talking about a historical event? Wrong. You see where this is going? Well, if you do see where this is going then The You're Wrong I'm Right Guy would still say you were fucking wrong. Without a word of a lie, I have heard one You're Wrong I'm Right Guy walk up to two people talking and say “No, that's complete rubbish. By the way, what are you guys talking about?”
The Middle Aged Ho
Ahh, The Middle Aged Ho... is there a more beautiful thing? People seem to be of the opinion that any trace of sexual promiscuity in women just sort of stops around the age of 30. Well, that isn't really true. If you look around any pub, there will always be at least one woman in there who is well into her middle age and doing some old school sleeping around. Maybe she is a recent divorcee, maybe she has just always been single or maybe she is having an affair. Either way, if you look around any pub then there will be at least one woman who you would never, ever think of as a a sexual being sat there macking with some different guy each and every week. It happens, and it is as disturbing as it is hot. You know you'd hit it at any rate.
The Drunken Gangster
Some people, when they get drunk, start to talk a little bit of rubbish. Usually it is just a bit of exaggeration and boasting, the way that drunken people do, but every now and again a drunk dude will let slip a dark secret – he is a gangster! Oh yeah, he is a real bad ass... he totally knows a guy who killed a guy, totally knows people who sleep with shotguns by their beds and has totally been lucky himself not to do serious time. When I was a kid, a few people did say things like “Don't mess with me, my brother knows people who have killed someone” and, at the time, it was an absolutely terrifying prospect. Then, of course, we all grew up and realised that only a tiny amount of people actually know these random killers who are walking the streets and shopping in Sainsburys. Still, The Drunken Gangster is totally one of those people. The only thing, though, is that all of his hardcore, gang banging knowledge comes from films and TV. If he wants to boozily explain how to dispose of a body, he will just quote Snatch word for word. If he wants to explain how to run a scam, then it will be something like Casino. This, though, does open up one of the best opportunities in life – quote the next line of the film they are referencing. Oh, it's great fun – you have this drunken dude quoting a film like it is his own original idea, and then you quote the next line. It is the stuff that dreams are made of.
The Eternal Mother
Lets face it, pubs, bars and clubs are all places in which people generally make a tit of themselves. They will either flame out with someone they want to bang, get drunk and fall down or fight. It is just the way it is, accept it. The Eternal Mother knows this, and will always be there to clear up the wounds. Need some reassurance? Well, then The Eternal Mother will be there to give you a hug and a pep talk. Two big guys about to kick seven shades of shit out of one another? Well, The Eternal Mother will bravely step into the middle of the battle and scald them both with a mother's tone in order to regain some order. Drunk? Then The Eternal Mother will sit you down in a corner with a big glass of water and make sure you know you're making a tit of yourself. Indeed, The Eternal Mother is like a guardian angel, hovering over all those within the pub world and taking care of everyone under her charge. For the love of god, buy your pub's Eternal Mother a drink tomorrow!
Wednesday, 14 April 2010
I think there is something wrong with the sky...
Right, I don't want to alarm anyone but I think something is wrong with the sky. Over the last few days, I've noticed something a little bit... well, a little bit disturbing. This big yellow thing is in it, and it's gotten really hot. I think, and I admit this is only a working theory, but still.... I think that the sky might well be on fire.
We all know what the sky is like usually, right? It's grey, miserable and covered in cloud, throwing down rain and snow whenever it chooses. It is a right old miserable bastard that sulks and makes it its own business to ruin everyone else's life. You have something planned that is going to take place outside? Well screw you, it's going to rain. Need to get home from work early? Well, fuck you it's going to snow out of season. That, ladies and gentlemen, is what the sky is usually all about.
Recently, though, I've noticed a change. The usual fluffy grey stuff that is all above us have moved away and instead it's this really pretty nice blue colour. What is even weirder is that I can go outside in shorts and a t-shirt and not be cold. And you know why? It's that giant fireball in the sky. That thing that looks like a flaming tennis ball smashed up in the sky, acting the cigarette burn on top of the baby blue surroundings. It is making everything all hot and nice, forcing people to stop being grumpy and start enjoying themselves.
Where it gets even weirder is the night. Instead of the sky just being this great big black expanse broken up intermittently with the glow from the closest urban jungle, there are stars and the moon. It really is all very pretty.
But, the sky isn't meant to be pretty, or nice, or warm. It is meant to be this cold, uncaring miserable thing that gives us grounds to make small talk with each other; a common enemy to hate on. All this nice weather stuff is weird. I mean, sure – it is nice to be able to go outside and enjoy a good old fashioned beer garden, but that isn't what weather is meant to be.
At the end of the day, the weather is meant to be annoying and ruin our lives, not nice. Therefore, the big fireball in the sky must be put out. I therefore make a plea to each and every one of you:
When you next see the sun, I want you to grab your garden hose and spray it as high into the air as you can. I want you to spray the sky with all the water you can find while screaming “Damn you fireball of doom, get back to the Southern Hemisphere where you belong! This is Walford, not bloody Ramsey Street!”
It's the only thing that can return us to normality...
We all know what the sky is like usually, right? It's grey, miserable and covered in cloud, throwing down rain and snow whenever it chooses. It is a right old miserable bastard that sulks and makes it its own business to ruin everyone else's life. You have something planned that is going to take place outside? Well screw you, it's going to rain. Need to get home from work early? Well, fuck you it's going to snow out of season. That, ladies and gentlemen, is what the sky is usually all about.
Recently, though, I've noticed a change. The usual fluffy grey stuff that is all above us have moved away and instead it's this really pretty nice blue colour. What is even weirder is that I can go outside in shorts and a t-shirt and not be cold. And you know why? It's that giant fireball in the sky. That thing that looks like a flaming tennis ball smashed up in the sky, acting the cigarette burn on top of the baby blue surroundings. It is making everything all hot and nice, forcing people to stop being grumpy and start enjoying themselves.
Where it gets even weirder is the night. Instead of the sky just being this great big black expanse broken up intermittently with the glow from the closest urban jungle, there are stars and the moon. It really is all very pretty.
But, the sky isn't meant to be pretty, or nice, or warm. It is meant to be this cold, uncaring miserable thing that gives us grounds to make small talk with each other; a common enemy to hate on. All this nice weather stuff is weird. I mean, sure – it is nice to be able to go outside and enjoy a good old fashioned beer garden, but that isn't what weather is meant to be.
At the end of the day, the weather is meant to be annoying and ruin our lives, not nice. Therefore, the big fireball in the sky must be put out. I therefore make a plea to each and every one of you:
When you next see the sun, I want you to grab your garden hose and spray it as high into the air as you can. I want you to spray the sky with all the water you can find while screaming “Damn you fireball of doom, get back to the Southern Hemisphere where you belong! This is Walford, not bloody Ramsey Street!”
It's the only thing that can return us to normality...
Wednesday, 7 April 2010
Women, and their part in the downfall of the Internet
Back in the old dark days of t'internet, it used to be that all men were men, all women were men and all children were FBI agents. It was the rule of thumb, and that was that.
In this Eternal September era of the internet, though, all sorts of folk are online. It's amazing. I've even seen women, and not ugly frumpy ones who live with 17 cats, use the interweb! And not in the 'You have to pay to see me' way either, actual real womenfolk using it for their own personal enjoyment. It's incredible and borderline life affirming. Thing is, it also often leads to disaster.
We all know that the internet is made up mainly of men. Of those which spend a serious amount of time on the internet, the kinds who belong to WoW guilds and are regulars to Justiv.tv chat rooms and the like, most of them are geeky guys. There is nothing wrong with that, frankly I'm probably classed as a geeky guy, and it is something that has major advantages. The downside is that more often than not, throw a genuinely hot girl into the mix and things start to go a little haywire. It's a bit like the excellent TV show The Big Bang Theory, except with less wit and more flame wars.
It is an unwritten law of the Internet that each and every big online streaming 'channel', every forum and every World of Warcraft guild must have at least one hot girl. It is like the changing of the seasons or Chuck Norris' awesomeness, it just is. Then, the same things always happen. Guys think that they have a shot at nailing them. They take various approaches, sometimes good and sometimes bad. Here are some of the “How To Fail With Some Hot Chick You Know From An Online Group” (yeah, abbreviations and snappy lines aren't my thing...) techniques.
The White Knight
You want to know what The White Knight's moto is? “If you protect the camwhore, you will get to nail the camwhore.” Although in this example there isn't a 'camwhore' per se, just some sort of random hot girl who is sharing a virtual space, the theory is the same. While other members of whatever online community inundate the Hot Girl with love notes, sexual suggestions and general flirtations, the White Knight will defend her honour. Why? Because there is no better way to get on a girls good side and into her pants than suck up to her like her potential new BFF!
The Dick
You know how back at school, there was always one guy who was a proper dick? He was probably either the kid from the richest family in town, related to a minor celeb or something like that. He may even have just been a stand out at something and known it. Well, either way, he was good and he knew it. That made him act the dick. Well, the same goes in geeky circles to. You do get some right proper dicks. And in terms of trying to nail the random Hot Girl who happened to stroll into the same online community, The Dick will use all his dicky moves to try to get in there – showing off, putting others down, coercion - you name it. That is why The Dick is called a dick. He is a dick.
The Bust Up
Why is it that no matter how many generations pass, the same old story always plays out – two guys fall for the same girl and then proceed to wreck a friendship over it. Really, all guys should have the following tattooed onto the insides of their eyelids “Brothers before Bitches.” In the more geeky online version of the world, though, the good old 'Its either him or me' bust up usually occurs sooner rather than later when two leading guild members\channel broadcasters\forum mods\etc. both fall head over heels in love with the same Hot Girl. It will always end in some good old fashioned drama between the supposed friends, as you just cannot do drama like the internet can, with the girl eventually winding up with some guy form outside the web who is a normal, well adjusted person. C'est la vie.
In this Eternal September era of the internet, though, all sorts of folk are online. It's amazing. I've even seen women, and not ugly frumpy ones who live with 17 cats, use the interweb! And not in the 'You have to pay to see me' way either, actual real womenfolk using it for their own personal enjoyment. It's incredible and borderline life affirming. Thing is, it also often leads to disaster.
We all know that the internet is made up mainly of men. Of those which spend a serious amount of time on the internet, the kinds who belong to WoW guilds and are regulars to Justiv.tv chat rooms and the like, most of them are geeky guys. There is nothing wrong with that, frankly I'm probably classed as a geeky guy, and it is something that has major advantages. The downside is that more often than not, throw a genuinely hot girl into the mix and things start to go a little haywire. It's a bit like the excellent TV show The Big Bang Theory, except with less wit and more flame wars.
It is an unwritten law of the Internet that each and every big online streaming 'channel', every forum and every World of Warcraft guild must have at least one hot girl. It is like the changing of the seasons or Chuck Norris' awesomeness, it just is. Then, the same things always happen. Guys think that they have a shot at nailing them. They take various approaches, sometimes good and sometimes bad. Here are some of the “How To Fail With Some Hot Chick You Know From An Online Group” (yeah, abbreviations and snappy lines aren't my thing...) techniques.
The White Knight
You want to know what The White Knight's moto is? “If you protect the camwhore, you will get to nail the camwhore.” Although in this example there isn't a 'camwhore' per se, just some sort of random hot girl who is sharing a virtual space, the theory is the same. While other members of whatever online community inundate the Hot Girl with love notes, sexual suggestions and general flirtations, the White Knight will defend her honour. Why? Because there is no better way to get on a girls good side and into her pants than suck up to her like her potential new BFF!
The Dick
You know how back at school, there was always one guy who was a proper dick? He was probably either the kid from the richest family in town, related to a minor celeb or something like that. He may even have just been a stand out at something and known it. Well, either way, he was good and he knew it. That made him act the dick. Well, the same goes in geeky circles to. You do get some right proper dicks. And in terms of trying to nail the random Hot Girl who happened to stroll into the same online community, The Dick will use all his dicky moves to try to get in there – showing off, putting others down, coercion - you name it. That is why The Dick is called a dick. He is a dick.
The Bust Up
Why is it that no matter how many generations pass, the same old story always plays out – two guys fall for the same girl and then proceed to wreck a friendship over it. Really, all guys should have the following tattooed onto the insides of their eyelids “Brothers before Bitches.” In the more geeky online version of the world, though, the good old 'Its either him or me' bust up usually occurs sooner rather than later when two leading guild members\channel broadcasters\forum mods\etc. both fall head over heels in love with the same Hot Girl. It will always end in some good old fashioned drama between the supposed friends, as you just cannot do drama like the internet can, with the girl eventually winding up with some guy form outside the web who is a normal, well adjusted person. C'est la vie.
Wednesday, 31 March 2010
You Know You're Drunk When...
You Know You're Drunk When...
- ... a kebab seems like the best invention since the fire that cooked it.
- ... setting fire to sambuca, putting it out on your hand then drinking it seems like a brilliant idea.
- ... that gate MUST BE CLIMBED! NO MATTER WHAT!
- ... that girl with the moustache and adams apple looks like Megan Fox.
- ... that angry email you've always wanted to send just flows like poetry. It would be rude to not let them know how you really feel.
- ... all electrical devices that allow you to spend money or communicate with another human being should, in hindsight, have come with a breathaliser. On the plus side, after calling your boss at 3am to ask for a raise you will have plenty of time to watch that Knightrider box set you just ordered.
- ... someone knocking into you accidently becomes grounds for an international incident.
- ... fighting bouncers is the best idea ever. You are more opressed than every minority ever! You should totally storm the club armed with a windscreen wiper shouting "VIVA LA REVOLUTION!"
- ... you feel that undying urge to tell someone you only half know that you love them and want to spend more time with them.
- ... you are male and think you can dance.
Monday, 29 March 2010
Who needs a sleeping patern?
Look, I'm going to admit something here - I messed up. I know, I thought I was perfect too, but no...
I've spent most of this weekend covering The Australian Grand Prix and watching UFC 111 and Wrestlemania 26 as a fan. That means that I have absolutely trashed my body clock. I've always had a somewhat lapse grasp on my sleeping patterns, but this weekend it has gotten ridiculous. It is like jetlag, except I didn't even get to go on fucking holiday.
Anyway, the upshot of all of that is I've fallen off the ball here a bit. I intended to do Thursday's post inbetween the first F1 practice sessions, but I couldn't keep my eyes open for long enough to do so. I meant to do today's while watching Wrestlemania, but instead we started doing shots whenever anyone was on screen in just their trunks and it all got a little fuzzy...
Because of all of that, I'm left with the immortal question that plagues students the world over - do I stay awake for two days to correct my body clock, or do I just wing it and stay on a messed up body clock. I mean, it can't be THAT bad for you to sleep at 7am and wake up at 4pm, can it?
Actually, compared to some students, a 7am till 4pm sleep pattern is sort of normal. I'm up late at night quite a lot watching\covering sport and without a word of a lie, a huge number of students I know are known to turn up on Skype calling me at 3am saying "Yeah, I just woke up. What day is it?"
And that is another reason while I'm always jealous of students. They seem to live the life of a king - sleeping as much as they want, whenever they want and they ALWAYS have money to go drinking. All the more reason why I'm strongly considering becoming one, just to take a 3 year holiday... I mean, getting a degree can't be that hard, can it?
Anyway, I'll be back to normal tomorrow as , even though today is Monday, this is Sunday's post...
I've spent most of this weekend covering The Australian Grand Prix and watching UFC 111 and Wrestlemania 26 as a fan. That means that I have absolutely trashed my body clock. I've always had a somewhat lapse grasp on my sleeping patterns, but this weekend it has gotten ridiculous. It is like jetlag, except I didn't even get to go on fucking holiday.
Anyway, the upshot of all of that is I've fallen off the ball here a bit. I intended to do Thursday's post inbetween the first F1 practice sessions, but I couldn't keep my eyes open for long enough to do so. I meant to do today's while watching Wrestlemania, but instead we started doing shots whenever anyone was on screen in just their trunks and it all got a little fuzzy...
Because of all of that, I'm left with the immortal question that plagues students the world over - do I stay awake for two days to correct my body clock, or do I just wing it and stay on a messed up body clock. I mean, it can't be THAT bad for you to sleep at 7am and wake up at 4pm, can it?
Actually, compared to some students, a 7am till 4pm sleep pattern is sort of normal. I'm up late at night quite a lot watching\covering sport and without a word of a lie, a huge number of students I know are known to turn up on Skype calling me at 3am saying "Yeah, I just woke up. What day is it?"
And that is another reason while I'm always jealous of students. They seem to live the life of a king - sleeping as much as they want, whenever they want and they ALWAYS have money to go drinking. All the more reason why I'm strongly considering becoming one, just to take a 3 year holiday... I mean, getting a degree can't be that hard, can it?
Anyway, I'll be back to normal tomorrow as , even though today is Monday, this is Sunday's post...
Wednesday, 24 March 2010
Dear Cold: Fuck You
Dear Cold,
I understand that you chose to infect me, and frankly I enjoyed the fact that it gave me an excuse to develop a borderline Night Nurse addiction and spend three days on the sofa. Now, though, it is Monday. I need to work. I quite enjoy earning money, and if I don't work then I don't get any. Giving me sporadic fits where I explode in a snotty cloud of germ isn't really conductive to me being able to buy food this week.
Neither are the pounding headaches, either. They really bug me. I do NOT like headaches, you see. To put it bluntly, Mr Cold, they fuck me right off. In a week where I'm having to do far too much web design work, which gives me a headache anyway, they are totally NOT helpful.
I also have to be awake all weekend covering the Australian Grand Prix for The Black Stuff. Colds do not help that.
Please. Go away. Now. The Night Nurse can stay though....
Thank you in advance,
Me
I understand that you chose to infect me, and frankly I enjoyed the fact that it gave me an excuse to develop a borderline Night Nurse addiction and spend three days on the sofa. Now, though, it is Monday. I need to work. I quite enjoy earning money, and if I don't work then I don't get any. Giving me sporadic fits where I explode in a snotty cloud of germ isn't really conductive to me being able to buy food this week.
Neither are the pounding headaches, either. They really bug me. I do NOT like headaches, you see. To put it bluntly, Mr Cold, they fuck me right off. In a week where I'm having to do far too much web design work, which gives me a headache anyway, they are totally NOT helpful.
I also have to be awake all weekend covering the Australian Grand Prix for The Black Stuff. Colds do not help that.
Please. Go away. Now. The Night Nurse can stay though....
Thank you in advance,
Me
Thursday, 18 March 2010
More of those Randoms that you see at Clubs
On Tuesday, we examined those random people that you see out and about at bars, clubs and the like. Today, we are looking at some more. Let's get moving, shall we?
The “No way, you grew up?! And you're hot!?” Girl
I'll play out a little scenario for you, lets see if you can relate. There you are, getting your groove on on the dance floor when all of a sudden this stunning young girl wanders up to you. She knows your name and seems pleased to see you in a shy, teasing sort of way. You immediately think that if a girl like that can wander up to you and know your name, then you should rush out and buy a lottery ticket as clearly your luck is in. Then you give her another look up and down. All of a sudden a crushing and terrifying thought pops into your brain - “OH MY FUCKING GOD THAT IS *old friend*'s LITTLE SISTER! SHE GREW UP! AND SHE IS HOT! WHAT DO I DO!?” That's right – the last time you saw this girl was at least five years ago and she was more interested in dolls and playing house and doing well at school. Now there she is in front of you wearing a skimpy skirt, high heels and a top that shows off two things she did most definately not have the last time you saw her. And she is drinking!? What do you do!? Do you just sort of smile, say hello and walk off? Is she fair game? I mean, you haven't seen *old friend* for a few years, have you? Surely he might not mind if you buy her a drink? After meeting the “No way, you grew up?! And you're hot!?” Girl, you will then spend the next several hours swaying between thinking “Oh my god the last time I saw that girl she was watching the Disney Channel” and “Look at her move on the dance floor!” Head implosion is the likely outcome here.
The “I get girls because I know a celebrity” Guy
I'm not talking about knowing a celebrity in a professional manner here. I'm not even talking about knowing a real celebrity either. The “I get girls because I know a celebrity” Guy usually knows someone who has been on reality television or flamed out spectacularly on some talent show. They may even just be a friend of a relative of someone famous. They aren't anywhere near famous in their own right – they could walk past a paparazzi with their johnson flying in the wind and the camera guys wouldn't so much as feel a twitch in their trigger finger – but by the way that fame sort of trickles down, they are considered on the fringes of celebrity. Still, that is just about enough fame to weaken the integrity of some girls' underwear. Without a word of a lie, when I was a mere simple, stupid teenager one of the guys in my social circle went on Brat Camp. That was a TV show where teenage kids who were absolute douchebags got to go on TV to be straightened out by some tough camp. This guy was on television for one hour one week just for being a complete and utter douche. The amount of girls that got excited was unreal. It totally works both ways too, as the daughters and younger sisters of celebrities are gold dust to men who will work their rear ends off to garner that attention. The moral of the story? People want to frog a celebrity and absolutely any celebrity will do.
The “One Up” Guy
The “One Up” guy is usually a friend of a friend, someone you don't know all that well. You might sort of recognise him, but will only realise that he is a “One Up” guy the first time you have an in depth chat with him. You know that little song that went “Anything you can do I can do better, I can do anything better than you”? This guy is the living embodiment. You played a bit of football in school, maybe even for a non-league team? He had try outs with Premiership clubs. Your band is starting to pick up gigs? He has shared a stage with a number one artist. You saving up to go to the Far East for a few weeks? He spent a year living and working out there. You just bought a new car? They just bought a better one. You know the type. After talking to them for five minutes, you want to punch their smug little face so hard their appendix falls out.
The “I'm on a diet, give me that kebab” Girl
It is a well known fact that all girls think they are fat, regardless of their actual body type. You can have girls who naturally have shoulders that are about as wide as a matchbox think they are Godzilla and you can have girls that are nice and normal think that if they starve themselves, they can look like matchbox girl. It doesn't matter if you are healthy, normal or what, girls always think they are fat and are always on a diet – it is one of those facts of life. These diets even carry on to the nights out, with those on a serious health kick preferring to drink vodka and tonics and white wine over those notoriously carb heavy shots of tequila and sugary cocktails. They may even make the conscious decision to dance a bit more to sweat off all of those fattening lemon wedges. At the end of the night, while the normal people start looking for something nice and unhealthy to eat The “I'm on a diet, give me that kebab” Girl starts talking to her friends that are on the same health kick about all the yoghurt and bananas and stuff they can eat when they get back home. Except, as it always is, they are sharing a cab back with someone who is not on a health kick. And that someone will want to go to a kebab van first as, well, you just do when you have tried to replace your blood stream with beer. The “I'm on a diet, give me that kebab” Girl will grudgingly go along, knowing you cannot convince a drunk person otherwise. Then it happens. As soon as they get there, they can't help but order a double burger and cheesy chip pita wrap. Just so you know, these girls are also the same ones who, for their entire time at school, said they were on a diet and proved it by never eating a thing apart from chocolate from the vending machines.
The “No way, you grew up?! And you're hot!?” Girl
I'll play out a little scenario for you, lets see if you can relate. There you are, getting your groove on on the dance floor when all of a sudden this stunning young girl wanders up to you. She knows your name and seems pleased to see you in a shy, teasing sort of way. You immediately think that if a girl like that can wander up to you and know your name, then you should rush out and buy a lottery ticket as clearly your luck is in. Then you give her another look up and down. All of a sudden a crushing and terrifying thought pops into your brain - “OH MY FUCKING GOD THAT IS *old friend*'s LITTLE SISTER! SHE GREW UP! AND SHE IS HOT! WHAT DO I DO!?” That's right – the last time you saw this girl was at least five years ago and she was more interested in dolls and playing house and doing well at school. Now there she is in front of you wearing a skimpy skirt, high heels and a top that shows off two things she did most definately not have the last time you saw her. And she is drinking!? What do you do!? Do you just sort of smile, say hello and walk off? Is she fair game? I mean, you haven't seen *old friend* for a few years, have you? Surely he might not mind if you buy her a drink? After meeting the “No way, you grew up?! And you're hot!?” Girl, you will then spend the next several hours swaying between thinking “Oh my god the last time I saw that girl she was watching the Disney Channel” and “Look at her move on the dance floor!” Head implosion is the likely outcome here.
The “I get girls because I know a celebrity” Guy
I'm not talking about knowing a celebrity in a professional manner here. I'm not even talking about knowing a real celebrity either. The “I get girls because I know a celebrity” Guy usually knows someone who has been on reality television or flamed out spectacularly on some talent show. They may even just be a friend of a relative of someone famous. They aren't anywhere near famous in their own right – they could walk past a paparazzi with their johnson flying in the wind and the camera guys wouldn't so much as feel a twitch in their trigger finger – but by the way that fame sort of trickles down, they are considered on the fringes of celebrity. Still, that is just about enough fame to weaken the integrity of some girls' underwear. Without a word of a lie, when I was a mere simple, stupid teenager one of the guys in my social circle went on Brat Camp. That was a TV show where teenage kids who were absolute douchebags got to go on TV to be straightened out by some tough camp. This guy was on television for one hour one week just for being a complete and utter douche. The amount of girls that got excited was unreal. It totally works both ways too, as the daughters and younger sisters of celebrities are gold dust to men who will work their rear ends off to garner that attention. The moral of the story? People want to frog a celebrity and absolutely any celebrity will do.
The “One Up” Guy
The “One Up” guy is usually a friend of a friend, someone you don't know all that well. You might sort of recognise him, but will only realise that he is a “One Up” guy the first time you have an in depth chat with him. You know that little song that went “Anything you can do I can do better, I can do anything better than you”? This guy is the living embodiment. You played a bit of football in school, maybe even for a non-league team? He had try outs with Premiership clubs. Your band is starting to pick up gigs? He has shared a stage with a number one artist. You saving up to go to the Far East for a few weeks? He spent a year living and working out there. You just bought a new car? They just bought a better one. You know the type. After talking to them for five minutes, you want to punch their smug little face so hard their appendix falls out.
The “I'm on a diet, give me that kebab” Girl
It is a well known fact that all girls think they are fat, regardless of their actual body type. You can have girls who naturally have shoulders that are about as wide as a matchbox think they are Godzilla and you can have girls that are nice and normal think that if they starve themselves, they can look like matchbox girl. It doesn't matter if you are healthy, normal or what, girls always think they are fat and are always on a diet – it is one of those facts of life. These diets even carry on to the nights out, with those on a serious health kick preferring to drink vodka and tonics and white wine over those notoriously carb heavy shots of tequila and sugary cocktails. They may even make the conscious decision to dance a bit more to sweat off all of those fattening lemon wedges. At the end of the night, while the normal people start looking for something nice and unhealthy to eat The “I'm on a diet, give me that kebab” Girl starts talking to her friends that are on the same health kick about all the yoghurt and bananas and stuff they can eat when they get back home. Except, as it always is, they are sharing a cab back with someone who is not on a health kick. And that someone will want to go to a kebab van first as, well, you just do when you have tried to replace your blood stream with beer. The “I'm on a diet, give me that kebab” Girl will grudgingly go along, knowing you cannot convince a drunk person otherwise. Then it happens. As soon as they get there, they can't help but order a double burger and cheesy chip pita wrap. Just so you know, these girls are also the same ones who, for their entire time at school, said they were on a diet and proved it by never eating a thing apart from chocolate from the vending machines.
Tuesday, 16 March 2010
Those Randoms You See Out At Bars
I don't know if I just happen to semi-know a lot of people, or spend a bit too much time people watching (you know, when you just sort of chill out and watch other people as the world goes by), but when I'm out and about on a Friday or Saturday (or Thursday, or Wednesday... you see where this is going?) night I see an awful lot of people I recognise. Some of them I actually know, either quite well or in a “Hey, aren't you so-or-so's friend? Didn't we go to school together?” sort of way. Some of them I just recognise the stereotype. Anyway, the point is I recognise a lot of people. Here are some of them.
The 'Hey, don't I know you? I don't? Ooooh...' Guy
You all know the feeling. There you are, stood at the bar with drink in hand having a ball when you see someone wander across the room. Your brain, for whatever reason, straight away says “Hey, I know that guy!” You then make a beeline over to them and greet them with a huge hug saying things like “Oh my god John! How are you buddy, I haven't seen you since that end of year party as a freshman?” or “Wow, Craig, awesome to see you? You moved back into the area now? How long has it been?” Thing is, they have no fucking clue who you are. You have basically just wandered up to a stranger and started talking to them. They may look an awful lot like your long lost buddy, but in reality they are just some dude trying to have fun and you are this weirdo who keeps trying to touch them. You either don't know them and never did or they have completely forgotten you. Move away and save at least a shred of dignity. Or quote popular memes from the era.
The 'Oh my god I do NOT want to talk to this screwed up guy' Guy
Usually, the Screwed Up Guy can be found in the smoking areas of clubs that he is far, far too old to frequent. Maybe he remembers the time when the place was a more age appropriate bar. Maybe he was even young enough to go there when it first opened. Usually, though, he just goes there as the cheap booze deals which attract the chronically cash strapped youth also appeal to him. Anyway, we have all met the guy. You wander outside to have a quick smoke and maybe use your phone when all of a sudden this random old drunk dude starts yapping at you. Usually something about 'back in my day' or 'hey I did this once' kind of stuff. You are then left with two choices – give monosyllabic answers as the old drunk douche goes on about something you don't care about, or you end up joining him. The later is considered worthy of the death penalty, by the way. The secret third option is of course to immediately stop drinking in case you turn into them.
The 'Hey, would you buy me a drink?' Girl
You all know the one. She knows every guy in the club. She knows twice as many guys outside of the club who will be willing to give her a lift home. She gets in for free because she is a little favourite of the bouncers. She drinks for free because convinces guys that if they buy her a drink, they will totally have a shot with her. She is also very good at picking on guys. She never picks the confident ones, as they would either be more skilled at coercing something in return or just tell her no. Instead, she picks on the runt of the litter. The guy who doesn't really find big bars and clubs 'his scene'. The guy who looks kind of awkward. The guy who would probably rather be at home seeing if he can get through MGS4 without killing anyone unnecessarily. This guy doesn't see the 'Hey, would you buy me a drink' Girl as what she is – just some girl using her sexuality to score free stuff. Oh no, he sees her as one of those girls which his friends tell him about. He thinks SCORE! I'm in! She thinks I'm cute! I'm going to have sex with her! I'll marry her! I'm in love! Poor guy....
The 'Hey, why are you staring at me you pervert' Girl
We all know them. They will go out dressed in skin tight mini dresses that are considered too long if they go an inch over their bum. They will wear tops which show off their boobs, which have of course been made more alluring with glittery sparkly stuff. They will have spend hours getting themselves ready for the night. They look stunning. Slutty, yes, but still stunning. Then you dare to look at them and all you get back is “What the fuck are you looking at, you pervert?” I'm sorry, but if you are going to spend hours dressing yourself up in clothes that show off your body to the maximum, then you do not get to complain when people stare. Without a word of a lie, one of my friends who is a bit of a 'Hey, why are you staring at me you pervert' Girl went to a Beach Party themed club night in a bikini. Not even a modest bikini either, we are talking skimpy stuff. She wore a big old coat and then she walked in and took it off, the entire band of surrounding guys of course started up. She then turned around and went in all seriousness “What the fuck are you doing that for? Get a life you perverts!” and stormed off. This is a girl who wore a bikini to club getting pissy that people looked. Unbelievable...
More to follow on Thursday! Also, if you liked this you may enjoy Five Different Kinds of Drunk and Five More Different Kinds of Drunk.
The 'Hey, don't I know you? I don't? Ooooh...' Guy
You all know the feeling. There you are, stood at the bar with drink in hand having a ball when you see someone wander across the room. Your brain, for whatever reason, straight away says “Hey, I know that guy!” You then make a beeline over to them and greet them with a huge hug saying things like “Oh my god John! How are you buddy, I haven't seen you since that end of year party as a freshman?” or “Wow, Craig, awesome to see you? You moved back into the area now? How long has it been?” Thing is, they have no fucking clue who you are. You have basically just wandered up to a stranger and started talking to them. They may look an awful lot like your long lost buddy, but in reality they are just some dude trying to have fun and you are this weirdo who keeps trying to touch them. You either don't know them and never did or they have completely forgotten you. Move away and save at least a shred of dignity. Or quote popular memes from the era.
The 'Oh my god I do NOT want to talk to this screwed up guy' Guy
Usually, the Screwed Up Guy can be found in the smoking areas of clubs that he is far, far too old to frequent. Maybe he remembers the time when the place was a more age appropriate bar. Maybe he was even young enough to go there when it first opened. Usually, though, he just goes there as the cheap booze deals which attract the chronically cash strapped youth also appeal to him. Anyway, we have all met the guy. You wander outside to have a quick smoke and maybe use your phone when all of a sudden this random old drunk dude starts yapping at you. Usually something about 'back in my day' or 'hey I did this once' kind of stuff. You are then left with two choices – give monosyllabic answers as the old drunk douche goes on about something you don't care about, or you end up joining him. The later is considered worthy of the death penalty, by the way. The secret third option is of course to immediately stop drinking in case you turn into them.
The 'Hey, would you buy me a drink?' Girl
You all know the one. She knows every guy in the club. She knows twice as many guys outside of the club who will be willing to give her a lift home. She gets in for free because she is a little favourite of the bouncers. She drinks for free because convinces guys that if they buy her a drink, they will totally have a shot with her. She is also very good at picking on guys. She never picks the confident ones, as they would either be more skilled at coercing something in return or just tell her no. Instead, she picks on the runt of the litter. The guy who doesn't really find big bars and clubs 'his scene'. The guy who looks kind of awkward. The guy who would probably rather be at home seeing if he can get through MGS4 without killing anyone unnecessarily. This guy doesn't see the 'Hey, would you buy me a drink' Girl as what she is – just some girl using her sexuality to score free stuff. Oh no, he sees her as one of those girls which his friends tell him about. He thinks SCORE! I'm in! She thinks I'm cute! I'm going to have sex with her! I'll marry her! I'm in love! Poor guy....
The 'Hey, why are you staring at me you pervert' Girl
We all know them. They will go out dressed in skin tight mini dresses that are considered too long if they go an inch over their bum. They will wear tops which show off their boobs, which have of course been made more alluring with glittery sparkly stuff. They will have spend hours getting themselves ready for the night. They look stunning. Slutty, yes, but still stunning. Then you dare to look at them and all you get back is “What the fuck are you looking at, you pervert?” I'm sorry, but if you are going to spend hours dressing yourself up in clothes that show off your body to the maximum, then you do not get to complain when people stare. Without a word of a lie, one of my friends who is a bit of a 'Hey, why are you staring at me you pervert' Girl went to a Beach Party themed club night in a bikini. Not even a modest bikini either, we are talking skimpy stuff. She wore a big old coat and then she walked in and took it off, the entire band of surrounding guys of course started up. She then turned around and went in all seriousness “What the fuck are you doing that for? Get a life you perverts!” and stormed off. This is a girl who wore a bikini to club getting pissy that people looked. Unbelievable...
More to follow on Thursday! Also, if you liked this you may enjoy Five Different Kinds of Drunk and Five More Different Kinds of Drunk.
Sunday, 14 March 2010
Blogging keeps you awake for boxing - FACT!
Oh my fucking god am I tired. I mean, I thought this whole covering sport thing would be fun. Well, it isn't when it keeps you up for 22 odd hours at a time. Anyway, in order to keep myself awake throughout the Pacquiao vs Clottey fight, I thought I'd make running updates for today's post. Here we go...
Pre Fight
It is sods law that the fight before the main event is going the distance. Don't they know that I am crying out for my bed!? Come on people, stop coasting to the end and knock each other out. Or go to points. Whatever. Just make me suffer.
Finally... now we just get the twenty minutes of video packages and ring entrances... yay...
The Sky guys are amazed about the massive HD screens at Cowboys Stadium. That is what I've been gawking at all year during Cowboys home games... well, the screens and Romo's interceptions...
My lungs are going to regret the whole smoking to stay awake thing I'm doing at the moment. Also, it took Clottey so long to reach the ring... god only knows how much Pacman will milk it.
After about 7 hours of build up, LETS GET READY TO RUMBLE!!
Round One
Pacman looks to take an early advantage, but most of his hits bounce off Clottey's guard. Clottey has a few searching punches but he must know that no judge in the world would give him a points victory over the cashcow of Pacquiao. He is just sizing him up for a KO shot. 10 – 9 to Pacman.
Round Two
Pacman is starting to pick his gaps and get shots in on Clottey, who is too busy protecting his head to protect his sides. Clottey is in a very passive mood tonight, and that annoys me. He is getting the odd shot out, but nothing that will ruffle the wee diddy Filipino. Second round to Pacman too – 20 – 18
Round Three
Come on Clottey, PLEASE do something other than make Pacman throw punches. Please. That will not get you a victory. No, do something – stop standing there getting hit. And throw punches other than jabs. That may help. Hmm.. saying that, Pacman is getting caught by a few. If he didn't have a chin made of steel that may do something. I'm still giving this round to Pacman, but it would not surprise me if at least one judge gave it to Clottey – 30 – 27 to Pacquiao.
Round Four
Pacman is still unloading, but it looks as if the few punches Clottey is landing are a bit heavier. Still, in terms of work rate and ring control Pacman is walking this so far. He shouldn't get careless, but Clottey doesn't appear interested in challenging at the moment. I stayed up for this? 40 – 36 to Pacman.
Round Five
Pacq is easing off a tiny bit, allowing Clottey to get a word in. Clottey has had the best opening here but Pacman is finishing the round strong. To be honest, I think Pacman is easing off and looking for counter opportunities. Eurgh, tough round to judge... still, I'll give it to Pacman again. 50 – 45
Round Six
Come on Clottey... let loose. It won't hurt... well, until you get punched in the face. I think the last round got a bit close for comfort for Pacman, he is still allowing Clottey to come at him to open up counter opportunities but is throwing enough to control the round. Watching this one sided match makes me wish I was seeing Mayweather in there even more. 60 – 54.
Round Seven
The trainer is finally taking my advice and is telling Clottey to start taking some chances. He needs to do something, his only hope to get remotely even is a knock down. And, no offence to Clottey, I don't see him knocking Pacq down unless something really fucking weird happens. Right now, Pacman is just sitting back, throwing the odd punch, letting Clottey come at him and then throwing a ton of punches. He did get caught by one sole meaningful punch, though. Oooh, and one or two more. Still dominating, though. Respectful touch of gloves after the taller Clottey got on top in a weird clinch on Pacman. Still, after all that it is 70 – 63.
Round Eight
I've got bored of saying this now. Pacman doing enough, Clottey gives it a token go and then Pacman unleashes. Low blow by Clottey there, and Pacman takes a few seconds to check his balls are intact. I guess they are as they are back at it. The ref, weirdly, tries to break up the friendly glove pat at the end of the round. 80 – 72.
Round Nine
Clottey's trainer Jesus (no relation) points out the blindingly obvious – he is losing every single round. Despite knowing he is losing, Clottey is still just sort of standing there getting hit. I really hate fights like this. And I know it will trudge on like this for the distance. The Sky commentators, trying to keep us bored sleepy people interested, wonder if Clottey has something special he is saving for the last rounds. I'm betting.... no. In a weird way, it is a shame Clottey hasn't got a cut or something so his corner have an excuse to pull him. Pacman now bored with poking Clottey and looks like he is going for the knockout. 90 – 81.
Round Ten
Clottey is just going for the 12 rounds so he can say he went 12 rounds with Pacquiao. Jesus says the ref will stop it unless Clottey throws some punches. Personally, I think this should have been stopped in round four. Clottey does not stand a chance and if Pacman goes for the KO, he could get hurt. I suppose I need to give Clottey his dues for taking this ass whooping like a man, but come on now. Just give up, there is no shame in losing to a monster like Pacman. 100 – 90. The round hasn't even finished and I'm writing up the score. Clottey is giving it a little go now, but if he thinks he can get a one punch KO on Pacquiao then he is gravely mistaken.
Round Eleven
The crowd are urging Clottey on, probably to just fucking do something of use. He has wounded Pacman, though, who has a tiny welt under his eye. Two huge punches from Clottey. He is not going down without a fight. At this rate I might give him the round. Probably wont, but I might. The crowd have woken up. Pacman is not happy that Clottey started throwing and is now turning the power back up. 110 – 99, although you could argue the case for Clottey in that round.
Round Twelve
The roof is open in Dallas to let all the hot air out. God I hope that Mayweather's fight is better than this. Anyway, Clottey is finally just throwing without a care in the world. He is getting tagged, though, and Pacman looks as lively now as he did in the first. Any young boxer should take a lesson from Pacman's work rate. Right, this is boring now... just finish, let me see if Pacman did win every round and I got the card right and let me fucking sleep. 120 – 108.
Post Fight
They are hugging and now Clottey is wondering how he will spend his purse as he gets a lap of honour on his trainer's shoulder. He could be a good opponent for people looking to test their work rate and counter punch countering, but that is about it. He got hit so many times and never blinked. In fact, Pacquiao's face is a bigger mess.
One judge agreed with me. The rest gave Clottey one token round, probably the eleventh. All I can say is that if boxing wants to compete with MMA, you need to do better than that. That was so fucking dull. I'm going to sleep. Humph. Oh, and I can be up in a few hours
Pre Fight
It is sods law that the fight before the main event is going the distance. Don't they know that I am crying out for my bed!? Come on people, stop coasting to the end and knock each other out. Or go to points. Whatever. Just make me suffer.
Finally... now we just get the twenty minutes of video packages and ring entrances... yay...
The Sky guys are amazed about the massive HD screens at Cowboys Stadium. That is what I've been gawking at all year during Cowboys home games... well, the screens and Romo's interceptions...
My lungs are going to regret the whole smoking to stay awake thing I'm doing at the moment. Also, it took Clottey so long to reach the ring... god only knows how much Pacman will milk it.
After about 7 hours of build up, LETS GET READY TO RUMBLE!!
Round One
Pacman looks to take an early advantage, but most of his hits bounce off Clottey's guard. Clottey has a few searching punches but he must know that no judge in the world would give him a points victory over the cashcow of Pacquiao. He is just sizing him up for a KO shot. 10 – 9 to Pacman.
Round Two
Pacman is starting to pick his gaps and get shots in on Clottey, who is too busy protecting his head to protect his sides. Clottey is in a very passive mood tonight, and that annoys me. He is getting the odd shot out, but nothing that will ruffle the wee diddy Filipino. Second round to Pacman too – 20 – 18
Round Three
Come on Clottey, PLEASE do something other than make Pacman throw punches. Please. That will not get you a victory. No, do something – stop standing there getting hit. And throw punches other than jabs. That may help. Hmm.. saying that, Pacman is getting caught by a few. If he didn't have a chin made of steel that may do something. I'm still giving this round to Pacman, but it would not surprise me if at least one judge gave it to Clottey – 30 – 27 to Pacquiao.
Round Four
Pacman is still unloading, but it looks as if the few punches Clottey is landing are a bit heavier. Still, in terms of work rate and ring control Pacman is walking this so far. He shouldn't get careless, but Clottey doesn't appear interested in challenging at the moment. I stayed up for this? 40 – 36 to Pacman.
Round Five
Pacq is easing off a tiny bit, allowing Clottey to get a word in. Clottey has had the best opening here but Pacman is finishing the round strong. To be honest, I think Pacman is easing off and looking for counter opportunities. Eurgh, tough round to judge... still, I'll give it to Pacman again. 50 – 45
Round Six
Come on Clottey... let loose. It won't hurt... well, until you get punched in the face. I think the last round got a bit close for comfort for Pacman, he is still allowing Clottey to come at him to open up counter opportunities but is throwing enough to control the round. Watching this one sided match makes me wish I was seeing Mayweather in there even more. 60 – 54.
Round Seven
The trainer is finally taking my advice and is telling Clottey to start taking some chances. He needs to do something, his only hope to get remotely even is a knock down. And, no offence to Clottey, I don't see him knocking Pacq down unless something really fucking weird happens. Right now, Pacman is just sitting back, throwing the odd punch, letting Clottey come at him and then throwing a ton of punches. He did get caught by one sole meaningful punch, though. Oooh, and one or two more. Still dominating, though. Respectful touch of gloves after the taller Clottey got on top in a weird clinch on Pacman. Still, after all that it is 70 – 63.
Round Eight
I've got bored of saying this now. Pacman doing enough, Clottey gives it a token go and then Pacman unleashes. Low blow by Clottey there, and Pacman takes a few seconds to check his balls are intact. I guess they are as they are back at it. The ref, weirdly, tries to break up the friendly glove pat at the end of the round. 80 – 72.
Round Nine
Clottey's trainer Jesus (no relation) points out the blindingly obvious – he is losing every single round. Despite knowing he is losing, Clottey is still just sort of standing there getting hit. I really hate fights like this. And I know it will trudge on like this for the distance. The Sky commentators, trying to keep us bored sleepy people interested, wonder if Clottey has something special he is saving for the last rounds. I'm betting.... no. In a weird way, it is a shame Clottey hasn't got a cut or something so his corner have an excuse to pull him. Pacman now bored with poking Clottey and looks like he is going for the knockout. 90 – 81.
Round Ten
Clottey is just going for the 12 rounds so he can say he went 12 rounds with Pacquiao. Jesus says the ref will stop it unless Clottey throws some punches. Personally, I think this should have been stopped in round four. Clottey does not stand a chance and if Pacman goes for the KO, he could get hurt. I suppose I need to give Clottey his dues for taking this ass whooping like a man, but come on now. Just give up, there is no shame in losing to a monster like Pacman. 100 – 90. The round hasn't even finished and I'm writing up the score. Clottey is giving it a little go now, but if he thinks he can get a one punch KO on Pacquiao then he is gravely mistaken.
Round Eleven
The crowd are urging Clottey on, probably to just fucking do something of use. He has wounded Pacman, though, who has a tiny welt under his eye. Two huge punches from Clottey. He is not going down without a fight. At this rate I might give him the round. Probably wont, but I might. The crowd have woken up. Pacman is not happy that Clottey started throwing and is now turning the power back up. 110 – 99, although you could argue the case for Clottey in that round.
Round Twelve
The roof is open in Dallas to let all the hot air out. God I hope that Mayweather's fight is better than this. Anyway, Clottey is finally just throwing without a care in the world. He is getting tagged, though, and Pacman looks as lively now as he did in the first. Any young boxer should take a lesson from Pacman's work rate. Right, this is boring now... just finish, let me see if Pacman did win every round and I got the card right and let me fucking sleep. 120 – 108.
Post Fight
They are hugging and now Clottey is wondering how he will spend his purse as he gets a lap of honour on his trainer's shoulder. He could be a good opponent for people looking to test their work rate and counter punch countering, but that is about it. He got hit so many times and never blinked. In fact, Pacquiao's face is a bigger mess.
One judge agreed with me. The rest gave Clottey one token round, probably the eleventh. All I can say is that if boxing wants to compete with MMA, you need to do better than that. That was so fucking dull. I'm going to sleep. Humph. Oh, and I can be up in a few hours
Friday, 12 March 2010
Hey, check this out!
All weekend I'm going to be covering the opening Formula One Grand Prix of the season live at my F1 blog The Black Stuff. This is a hugely daunting task.
I've never really done the whole live sports coverage thing before. I've done more analysis than I can shake a stick at, and taken part in umpteen of these live chats with the guys over at Shutdown Corner, but never actually done one myself.
Well, still, lets see how I cope. Drop in over the weekend and check it out -I'll be live whenever the cars are on the track.
I've never really done the whole live sports coverage thing before. I've done more analysis than I can shake a stick at, and taken part in umpteen of these live chats with the guys over at Shutdown Corner, but never actually done one myself.
Well, still, lets see how I cope. Drop in over the weekend and check it out -I'll be live whenever the cars are on the track.
Tuesday, 9 March 2010
Five More Different Kinds of Drunk
Seeing as my last outing here, in which I highlighted “Five Different Kinds of Drunk”, was pretty popular (at least according to Google Analytics), I thought I'd do full explanations of the kinds of drunk who only made the honourable mentions list first time around.
I hereby present Five More Different Kinds of Drunk.
Enabling Drunk
The Enabling Drunk is often found right in the heart of all the drama that surrounds a typical night on the town. Whether it is two people having a disagreement, someone being an Emotional Drunk, someone cheating or just any sort of event that is above and beyond the norm of dancing and drinking heavily, you can guarantee that the Enabling Drunk will be smack bam in the middle. They will spur on Emotional Drunks, telling them that their problems are the greatest to ever befoul such a kind soul. They will needlessly stir the pot when two Fight Your Friend Drunks get to each others throats and they will blow any sort of kissing between two people not in a long term relationship completely out of proportion. Enabling Drunks are also the most likely to cry at doormen.
Loud Drunk
There is something about the Loud Drunk that means that with each and every drink that they pour down their beck, their voice creeps ever louder. It will begin with them just talking a tiny bit louder than everyone else. Then they will start talking over everyone else. Then they just don't stop talking. By the end of the night, if anyone is brave enough to be near the Loud Drunk then they must either already be deaf or be wearing earplugs. The Loud Drunk does have their advantages, though, as they are quite often used to order drinks successfully over a noisy bar.
Fight Your Friends Drunk
“Oi you! Yeah, you! You who has been my best mate for at leas five years? What the fuck are you looking at? Did you say something about me? Did you make a pass at my girlfriend? I ought to punch you right in the middle of your fucking face! Come on then! I'll have ya! Oh my god I'm so sorry dude! I never meant to act like that! You're my best friend, I love you man. I'm so sorry. What do you mean you don't accept my apology? I ought to punch you right in the middle of your stupid fucking face!”
Predator Drunk
Predator Drunks are the kinds of drunks who are usually found creeping around the outsides of a nightspot. You will rarely see a Predator Drunk venture into the middle of the dance floor to pick up their victims. Instead you will find them acting far more cunningly, stalking the outside areas looking for vulnerable Emotional Drunks or messy Drunk Drunks. Generally, there are two types of Predator Drunks. Male Predator Drunks will look for women who are either looking in a bit of emotional distress or just Drunk Drunk in order to act the knight in shining armour and swoop in for easy prey. Female Predator Drunks, though, will generally seek out intoxicated below-normal attractive men and make them buy them drinks by flaunting their lady bits. It goes without saying, of course, that Female Predator Drunks will never, ever let anyone actually touch their lady bits, they just want the drinks.
Naked Drunk
Alcohol does things to some people. Sometimes it is a freak, one off occurrence. Sometimes it happens with a disturbing amount of regularity. Whatever the frequency, the end result is always the same – alcohol makes some people get naked. I'm not talking about an 'Alcohol Makes You Sleep With People' thing here, oh no. I mean that get some people drunk and they feel the need to get naked in public. When the Naked Drunk hits that stage, their clothes become an uncomfortable nuisance and all they can think of is being naked and free like a German tourist. Sometimes a guy will take his top off and swirl his shirt around his head. Sometimes a girl will get her boobs out in order to elicit a cheer from a bunch of horny guys. Skinny dipping is usually involved somewhere down the line too, assuming a large enough body of water can be found. The exact situation matters not, though. All that matters is the point that Naked Drunks like to get naked.
I hereby present Five More Different Kinds of Drunk.
Enabling Drunk
The Enabling Drunk is often found right in the heart of all the drama that surrounds a typical night on the town. Whether it is two people having a disagreement, someone being an Emotional Drunk, someone cheating or just any sort of event that is above and beyond the norm of dancing and drinking heavily, you can guarantee that the Enabling Drunk will be smack bam in the middle. They will spur on Emotional Drunks, telling them that their problems are the greatest to ever befoul such a kind soul. They will needlessly stir the pot when two Fight Your Friend Drunks get to each others throats and they will blow any sort of kissing between two people not in a long term relationship completely out of proportion. Enabling Drunks are also the most likely to cry at doormen.
Loud Drunk
There is something about the Loud Drunk that means that with each and every drink that they pour down their beck, their voice creeps ever louder. It will begin with them just talking a tiny bit louder than everyone else. Then they will start talking over everyone else. Then they just don't stop talking. By the end of the night, if anyone is brave enough to be near the Loud Drunk then they must either already be deaf or be wearing earplugs. The Loud Drunk does have their advantages, though, as they are quite often used to order drinks successfully over a noisy bar.
Fight Your Friends Drunk
“Oi you! Yeah, you! You who has been my best mate for at leas five years? What the fuck are you looking at? Did you say something about me? Did you make a pass at my girlfriend? I ought to punch you right in the middle of your fucking face! Come on then! I'll have ya! Oh my god I'm so sorry dude! I never meant to act like that! You're my best friend, I love you man. I'm so sorry. What do you mean you don't accept my apology? I ought to punch you right in the middle of your stupid fucking face!”
Predator Drunk
Predator Drunks are the kinds of drunks who are usually found creeping around the outsides of a nightspot. You will rarely see a Predator Drunk venture into the middle of the dance floor to pick up their victims. Instead you will find them acting far more cunningly, stalking the outside areas looking for vulnerable Emotional Drunks or messy Drunk Drunks. Generally, there are two types of Predator Drunks. Male Predator Drunks will look for women who are either looking in a bit of emotional distress or just Drunk Drunk in order to act the knight in shining armour and swoop in for easy prey. Female Predator Drunks, though, will generally seek out intoxicated below-normal attractive men and make them buy them drinks by flaunting their lady bits. It goes without saying, of course, that Female Predator Drunks will never, ever let anyone actually touch their lady bits, they just want the drinks.
Naked Drunk
Alcohol does things to some people. Sometimes it is a freak, one off occurrence. Sometimes it happens with a disturbing amount of regularity. Whatever the frequency, the end result is always the same – alcohol makes some people get naked. I'm not talking about an 'Alcohol Makes You Sleep With People' thing here, oh no. I mean that get some people drunk and they feel the need to get naked in public. When the Naked Drunk hits that stage, their clothes become an uncomfortable nuisance and all they can think of is being naked and free like a German tourist. Sometimes a guy will take his top off and swirl his shirt around his head. Sometimes a girl will get her boobs out in order to elicit a cheer from a bunch of horny guys. Skinny dipping is usually involved somewhere down the line too, assuming a large enough body of water can be found. The exact situation matters not, though. All that matters is the point that Naked Drunks like to get naked.
Sunday, 7 March 2010
Five Different Kinds of Drunk
This might be surprising to some people, but I got drunk last night. And while I was in this drunken state, I started coming up with theories. It is something I often do, as my mind is usually more productive when it has umpteen pints of beer in it. Although, last night it was closer to umpteen measures of whiskey in it. Anyway, I digress...
When I got drunk last night, I started theorising about the different kinds of drunk there are. I don't mean stuff like “It's fun to go out drinking with Steve, he is a really great guy when he is hammered” or “Never, ever go out drinking with Brian, he gets awfully stabby after his third mojito.” No no, I mean that quite normal people can get different kinds of 'drunk'. Sometimes they get funny, sometimes they get rude, sometimes they get violent and sometimes they get naked and pretend they are a clown. It happens. Lets examine some of the more common kinds of drunk people get.
Hungry Drunk
This, I will admit, is what I was last night. I don't know why, but sometimes when the beers are rushing through your veins all you can think of doing is eating your body weight in whatever food you can get your hands on. It is when you are feeling Hungry Drunk that a visit to the kebab van takes on a whole new meaning. Instead of just grabbing a box of chips, a burger or (if you are feeling incredibly brave\drunk) a kebab, you just take a long look in your wallet and buy as much food as you can afford. You then get home and make a bacon sandwich, have a bowl of cereal and take the first thing you see in the fridge to bed with you as a late snack.
Lewd Drunk
There is always one, and they are almost always male. Stick a few gins down his neck and all of a sudden the upper male brain shuts down and the lower male brain takes over. In the Lewd Drunk's head, he may believe that he is cooing out words of woo that would make Hugh Hefner look like a gawky kid at their first spin-the-bottle party. However, in actuality all he is doing is asking girls to get their boobs out and running up a pretty long list of things that will just add to the next morning's hangover pain. This never stops the Lewd Drunk, though, as in their mind the only thing women like more than being objectified is being drooled over! Score!
Sick Drunk
More often than not, the Sick Drunk will start the night off saying things like 'Oh, I don't really drink much' or 'I suppose I'll just have a bottle of beer, I guess'. At about the halfway point, when the regular drinkers who know how to handle their hooch are either starting to just maintain a buzz or dive into the deep end of Black Out Cove, the Sick Drunk is usually already far drunker than they ever have been. By the end of the night, when others are busy making sloppy passes at the opposite sex or twitching violently on the dance floor, the Sick Drunk is usually in the bathroom removing the entire night's alcohol from their system in one foul swoop. They will then continue to do this all the way home, all through the night and, if you are really lucky, throughout the next morning. Oh, and they also create an awful lot of drama.
Gay Drunk
We all have those friends. What better way is it to appeal to the opposite sex than, when the drinks have duly been pounded, to get a little up close and personal with your same sex buddies? It is a plan that can never fail! With guys, they often get awfully up close and personal with their same-sex friends in order to make sure that all the womenfolk in the joint know that they are secure with their sexuality, love the attention and are fun guys. With girls, is there a better way to show that they are sexy little minxes than by macking with their bestest friends? Once again, it is a plan that can NEVER fail!
Emotional Drunk
They are the one who, while the rest of your group are inside pounding the shots and working on making sure that walking in a straight line will be a significant issue for many days to come, is sat outside in the smoking area pouring their heart out. Maybe they have just been dumped, maybe the person they are 'totally in love with' has just shot them down or maybe they are just frustrated with something that is trivial the rest of the year, but at that exact moment in time is the greatest drama to ever befoul a life ever. Whatever the reason, the emotional drunk will spend most of the evening out gushing about their massive problems to anyone willing to listen before promptly not giving two shits as soon as they sober up. Emotional Drunks are also usually found in pairs with an Enabling Drunk, who will convince them that they are right and their lives are so drama filled that someone could easily make an Oscar winning film about it. Or partnered with a Predator Drunk who is hoping to take advantage.
Honourable Mentions: Enabling Drunk, Loud Drunk, Fight Your Friends Drunk, Predator Drunk, Naked Drunk
When I got drunk last night, I started theorising about the different kinds of drunk there are. I don't mean stuff like “It's fun to go out drinking with Steve, he is a really great guy when he is hammered” or “Never, ever go out drinking with Brian, he gets awfully stabby after his third mojito.” No no, I mean that quite normal people can get different kinds of 'drunk'. Sometimes they get funny, sometimes they get rude, sometimes they get violent and sometimes they get naked and pretend they are a clown. It happens. Lets examine some of the more common kinds of drunk people get.
Hungry Drunk
This, I will admit, is what I was last night. I don't know why, but sometimes when the beers are rushing through your veins all you can think of doing is eating your body weight in whatever food you can get your hands on. It is when you are feeling Hungry Drunk that a visit to the kebab van takes on a whole new meaning. Instead of just grabbing a box of chips, a burger or (if you are feeling incredibly brave\drunk) a kebab, you just take a long look in your wallet and buy as much food as you can afford. You then get home and make a bacon sandwich, have a bowl of cereal and take the first thing you see in the fridge to bed with you as a late snack.
Lewd Drunk
There is always one, and they are almost always male. Stick a few gins down his neck and all of a sudden the upper male brain shuts down and the lower male brain takes over. In the Lewd Drunk's head, he may believe that he is cooing out words of woo that would make Hugh Hefner look like a gawky kid at their first spin-the-bottle party. However, in actuality all he is doing is asking girls to get their boobs out and running up a pretty long list of things that will just add to the next morning's hangover pain. This never stops the Lewd Drunk, though, as in their mind the only thing women like more than being objectified is being drooled over! Score!
Sick Drunk
More often than not, the Sick Drunk will start the night off saying things like 'Oh, I don't really drink much' or 'I suppose I'll just have a bottle of beer, I guess'. At about the halfway point, when the regular drinkers who know how to handle their hooch are either starting to just maintain a buzz or dive into the deep end of Black Out Cove, the Sick Drunk is usually already far drunker than they ever have been. By the end of the night, when others are busy making sloppy passes at the opposite sex or twitching violently on the dance floor, the Sick Drunk is usually in the bathroom removing the entire night's alcohol from their system in one foul swoop. They will then continue to do this all the way home, all through the night and, if you are really lucky, throughout the next morning. Oh, and they also create an awful lot of drama.
Gay Drunk
We all have those friends. What better way is it to appeal to the opposite sex than, when the drinks have duly been pounded, to get a little up close and personal with your same sex buddies? It is a plan that can never fail! With guys, they often get awfully up close and personal with their same-sex friends in order to make sure that all the womenfolk in the joint know that they are secure with their sexuality, love the attention and are fun guys. With girls, is there a better way to show that they are sexy little minxes than by macking with their bestest friends? Once again, it is a plan that can NEVER fail!
Emotional Drunk
They are the one who, while the rest of your group are inside pounding the shots and working on making sure that walking in a straight line will be a significant issue for many days to come, is sat outside in the smoking area pouring their heart out. Maybe they have just been dumped, maybe the person they are 'totally in love with' has just shot them down or maybe they are just frustrated with something that is trivial the rest of the year, but at that exact moment in time is the greatest drama to ever befoul a life ever. Whatever the reason, the emotional drunk will spend most of the evening out gushing about their massive problems to anyone willing to listen before promptly not giving two shits as soon as they sober up. Emotional Drunks are also usually found in pairs with an Enabling Drunk, who will convince them that they are right and their lives are so drama filled that someone could easily make an Oscar winning film about it. Or partnered with a Predator Drunk who is hoping to take advantage.
Honourable Mentions: Enabling Drunk, Loud Drunk, Fight Your Friends Drunk, Predator Drunk, Naked Drunk
Thursday, 4 March 2010
Introducing: The Black Stuff
Once more no OC for you guys as I've been just ridiculously busy recently getting some new projects off the ground. One of them is my new F1 blog, www.TheBlackStuff.co.uk
Go There.....now... GO!
Go There.....now... GO!
Monday, 1 March 2010
Introducing: Red Top News
No formal update for Sunday (Well, I say Sunday... I mean Monday, as I had a gig in Bournemouth last night. I can exclusively reveal that the M3 is the dullest motorway in history, although I digress...)
Instead, I am here to show you all a brand new blog - Red Top News. Satire, Scandal, News and Sports all in one place. Check it out, you won't regret it. I promise. Pinky swear...
Instead, I am here to show you all a brand new blog - Red Top News. Satire, Scandal, News and Sports all in one place. Check it out, you won't regret it. I promise. Pinky swear...
Friday, 26 February 2010
Odd Ideas That My Brain Comes Up With...
As anyone who follows my Twitter feed will attest to, I have some really frigging odd thoughts at times. I mean, the main reason I have a Twitter feed isn't to tell the world my activity each and every fucking second of the day, oh no, it's just as a place to jot down all the odd little thoughts that pop into my brain as the day goes by.
But sometimes, just sometimes, I have a batshit crazy idea that I can't express in just 140 characters. Mostly, they are book and short story ideas (or as I call them, 'stuff I whore to publishers that never gets picked up') but here is a collection of some of my stranger ideas.
But sometimes, just sometimes, I have a batshit crazy idea that I can't express in just 140 characters. Mostly, they are book and short story ideas (or as I call them, 'stuff I whore to publishers that never gets picked up') but here is a collection of some of my stranger ideas.
- I want to write a comedy book about a nuclear explosion from the perspective of a bunny who nibbled through the wires and set it off. Imagine it - it would be epic. Everyone convinced that some rougue nation would be the one to set a nuclear bomb off, and instead it's just a rabbit.
- I want to write a sitcom about a group of students, except whenever I try I just make the characters stereotypes of some of my friends. And, the thing is, should I ever get round to piloting the thing they would all be like "dude, that is so obviously me! Fuck you!"
- Is it weird to want to change me name to, like, Justin Time or Barry Cade and just write a journal of what people say to me in response to my name? Although I would need to obtain fake ID for that, as I'm sure people would want proof and I doubt writing it in my underpants would be enough. Also, I am NOT changing my name by depol to Barry fucking Cade, alright?
- Finally, I'm not entirely sure if I should know this, but the computer graphic for POD on the BBC 3 makeover show 'Snog, Marry, Avoid' is the exact same graphic as the one ESPN use for their world famous SportsCenter logo. You know the one, the red dot with the lenses focusing around it? Yeah, you know the one. Anyway, they are the same. And I want to know what would happen if the two of them changed places for a day. Would POD start doing a Tony Kornheiser on the SportsCenter crew? Would the SportsCenter graphic tell Bianca Gascgoine about baseball? Oooooh the possibilities!
Wednesday, 24 February 2010
Hot Curlers
I'm still obsessed with curling. Obsessed with curling and very, very hung over. Therefore, have some pictures of curlers and be happy.
Sunday, 21 February 2010
I am still totally obsessed with the Winter Olympics...
I want to learn how to either do Ski Cross or Snowboard Cross... preferably Ski Cross. Basically I want to race down a mountain with sticks, duelling along the way. Or, perhaps, I'll learn to bobsleigh. As a no-year no claims bonus will attest to, I'm a damn good driver and as I'm also a pretty big guy, I'm sure I could give it a decent push. I helped push start my dad's car once. One time, I was also part of a gang that stole my mate's Vauxhall Nova by just picking it up and walking off with it, although that is entirely a different story.
I wouldn't mind giving curling a go as well, purely to get to shout and slide a lot. Oh, and hang out with female curlers. They look awesome. It appears that (German curlers excluded) to be a female curler, you have to either be some saucy little minx or some kinky MILF.
One sport I could never, ever do, though, is cross country skiing. Seriously, those guys are defective in the head. Have you seen them at the finish line? It is the only sport I can think of where absolutely everyone who crosses the finish line collapses on site. No exceptions. It is absolutely bonkers.
I couldn't do speed skating either, as I'd feel self conscious in all that lycra, bent over. It just isn't natural. Plus, I'm not Korean and from what I've seen that is a major disadvantage. Figure skating, too, is out for me. I do not have an ounce of agility in me. Seriously, have you seen those guys and gals? They defy the laws of physics on a regular basis. I also can't do Ice Hockey as I have an aversion to being punched in the face by angry Canadians.
TL:DR – Yes, I am still utterly obsessed with the Winter Olympics and my Twitter feed is still just one giant monument to the glory that is sliding down a mountain as fast as possible.
I wouldn't mind giving curling a go as well, purely to get to shout and slide a lot. Oh, and hang out with female curlers. They look awesome. It appears that (German curlers excluded) to be a female curler, you have to either be some saucy little minx or some kinky MILF.
I want to slide down the ice with these people, if you know what I mean...
One sport I could never, ever do, though, is cross country skiing. Seriously, those guys are defective in the head. Have you seen them at the finish line? It is the only sport I can think of where absolutely everyone who crosses the finish line collapses on site. No exceptions. It is absolutely bonkers.
I couldn't do speed skating either, as I'd feel self conscious in all that lycra, bent over. It just isn't natural. Plus, I'm not Korean and from what I've seen that is a major disadvantage. Figure skating, too, is out for me. I do not have an ounce of agility in me. Seriously, have you seen those guys and gals? They defy the laws of physics on a regular basis. I also can't do Ice Hockey as I have an aversion to being punched in the face by angry Canadians.
TL:DR – Yes, I am still utterly obsessed with the Winter Olympics and my Twitter feed is still just one giant monument to the glory that is sliding down a mountain as fast as possible.
Friday, 19 February 2010
Things I've Noticed About The Winter Olympics
As anyone following my Twitter feed will know, I've become obsessed with the Winter Olympics. Here are some of my thoughts:
- Every Russian athlete is hot. Especially the curling team. Seriously. Wow.
- The speed skaters' thighs defy logic, physics and possibly the laws of God
- If the Winter Olympics is just full of sports that involve sliding, why aren't water slides and those long sheets of plastic that you laid on the lawn as a kid, squirted with washing up liquid and a hose and slid down that broke at least one kids collar bone each summer proper Olympic sports?
- Have I mentioned the speed skaters' thighs?
- Why invite some of the Ice Hockey nations when it is just obvious that they are there to be mocked?
- Since when did it become a part of the Communist party plan to make gymnasts turn into snowboarders? Is it like some form of punishment? "Oh fuck you, you fell of the bars, we are going to strap you to a baking tray and shove you down a steep mountain!"
- I feel morally superior to Shaun White. He may be infinately more talented than me, but I have better hair.
- I want to bobsleigh. Not in the Olympics, just in my day to day life. Also, I want to bobsleigh drunk.
- Curling is slightly erotic. All that sliding about on the ice and grunting. Think about it.
- Figure skating is the best sport ever invented. I couldn't do that shit standing on firm ground, let along skating around on one leg. Also, Brett Favre may be renowned for throwing a football hard but I doubt even he could get a spiral on a fucking person.
- Why don't speed skaters use their blades more constructively? I mean the big juicey acheles tendons of their rivals are there for the stomping
- Double Luge is the most homo-erotic sport ever. Seriously, it's just full of men in lycra laying on top of each other grunting.
- Finally, who in their right mind thinks 'I want to be an Olympian. I know, I'll lay on a baking tray on my front and slide down a mountain at 140kph! GENIUS!'
Tuesday, 16 February 2010
Are Video Games Art?
First things first, in the interests of fairness yes I am a bit of a geek. Moving swiftly on...
Recently I've been trying not to go out and get blind drunk quite as often as I used to. A bit of it is because the novelty of waking up with a hang over has worn off, a bit of it is financially induced and a bit of it is I tend to be far more productive when I'm not shouting battle cries such as 'Lets go to the funfair! DRUNK DODGE'EMS!'
As a result of that, I've been playing a lot more video games recently. I've always loved them since I was about 6 and broke my leg. As I was housebound all throughout a summer holiday when no doubt my parents were quite looking forward to me going out and adventuring, they bought me a Sega Mega Drive to keep me subdued. Since then, I've been hooked.
In the last few months, I've successfully completed Mass Effect 1 & 2 (well, I completed ME1 years ago but re-played it in anticipation), Assassin's Creed 2 and Kane & Lynch amongst a bevy of others. I've also bought a PlayStation 3 to play through Metal Gear Solid 4 and the impending Heavy Rain.
Playing all these story heavy, well directed and cut scene orientated games has gotten me a-thinking. Are video games a sort of art?
When most people think of trad 'art', they think of paintings, photos, books, movies and music. Video games are still considered much as they were in the 1980's – a form of entertainment and nothing more. But that was in the days of side scrolling games, chip music and cartoon superheroes like Mario and Sonic.
Of course there are video games produced even today which could never ever be considered art – no matter which way you slice it, Crank & Ratchet and Madden 10 are not on a par with The Avatar and The Hurt Locker.
However, there are a new generation of games which could easily be considered art. The latest Metal Gear Solid game with it's 90 minute cinema quality cut scenes, Heavy Rain with it's focus so much on story that it is being marketed as an Alternative Reality Game and Assassin's Creed 2 with it's hugely detailed virtual cities are all hallmarks of blockbuster movies. The character development and relationships chronicled over the Mass Effect series are the same as in any big screen sci-fi epic. The soundtracks are, if anything, even more epic than in movies.
Although not a completely canon point, David Hayter (who voices Snake in the MGS franchise) is even an accomplished script writer.
With the ever increasing cut scene direction, voice acting skill and immersive universes, should modern day video games be considered more art than entertainment?
Well – yes, frankly, they should be. Obviously art in it's purest form will always be hung in a gallery or be hailed at the Oscars, but I really believe that video games these days should be placed on a par with at least movies, books and television. Compared to 'Modern Art' I'd say video games are far superior.
The biggest test, though, will be getting the 'establishment' to accept video games as a genuine medium. I doubt in my lifetime there will be an Oscar handed out for the best video game, judged on scripting, design and cut scenes, nor a serious recognition for the music. But you have to admit – compare MGS4 with half a shark in a tank of formaldehyde or an unmade bed and you tell me which is more artistic?
Recently I've been trying not to go out and get blind drunk quite as often as I used to. A bit of it is because the novelty of waking up with a hang over has worn off, a bit of it is financially induced and a bit of it is I tend to be far more productive when I'm not shouting battle cries such as 'Lets go to the funfair! DRUNK DODGE'EMS!'
As a result of that, I've been playing a lot more video games recently. I've always loved them since I was about 6 and broke my leg. As I was housebound all throughout a summer holiday when no doubt my parents were quite looking forward to me going out and adventuring, they bought me a Sega Mega Drive to keep me subdued. Since then, I've been hooked.
In the last few months, I've successfully completed Mass Effect 1 & 2 (well, I completed ME1 years ago but re-played it in anticipation), Assassin's Creed 2 and Kane & Lynch amongst a bevy of others. I've also bought a PlayStation 3 to play through Metal Gear Solid 4 and the impending Heavy Rain.
Playing all these story heavy, well directed and cut scene orientated games has gotten me a-thinking. Are video games a sort of art?
Coming soon to an art gallery near you, this piece is titled 'Wohoo! A Gold Star!'
When most people think of trad 'art', they think of paintings, photos, books, movies and music. Video games are still considered much as they were in the 1980's – a form of entertainment and nothing more. But that was in the days of side scrolling games, chip music and cartoon superheroes like Mario and Sonic.
Of course there are video games produced even today which could never ever be considered art – no matter which way you slice it, Crank & Ratchet and Madden 10 are not on a par with The Avatar and The Hurt Locker.
However, there are a new generation of games which could easily be considered art. The latest Metal Gear Solid game with it's 90 minute cinema quality cut scenes, Heavy Rain with it's focus so much on story that it is being marketed as an Alternative Reality Game and Assassin's Creed 2 with it's hugely detailed virtual cities are all hallmarks of blockbuster movies. The character development and relationships chronicled over the Mass Effect series are the same as in any big screen sci-fi epic. The soundtracks are, if anything, even more epic than in movies.
Although not a completely canon point, David Hayter (who voices Snake in the MGS franchise) is even an accomplished script writer.
With the ever increasing cut scene direction, voice acting skill and immersive universes, should modern day video games be considered more art than entertainment?
Well – yes, frankly, they should be. Obviously art in it's purest form will always be hung in a gallery or be hailed at the Oscars, but I really believe that video games these days should be placed on a par with at least movies, books and television. Compared to 'Modern Art' I'd say video games are far superior.
The biggest test, though, will be getting the 'establishment' to accept video games as a genuine medium. I doubt in my lifetime there will be an Oscar handed out for the best video game, judged on scripting, design and cut scenes, nor a serious recognition for the music. But you have to admit – compare MGS4 with half a shark in a tank of formaldehyde or an unmade bed and you tell me which is more artistic?
Monday, 15 February 2010
NASCAR Daytona 500 Hour by Hour
As I sometimes do, I recorded my thoughts throughout an event. Here are my thoughts on the Daytona 500...
17:58 – I do love the over the top intro videos that you get on big sporting events.
18:02 – I love the whole patriotism thing you get before the flag as well. You don't get that over here, sadly.
18:05 – I love how in F1, a great race has a lead change on the track. In NASCAR, a great race is a 'Crashfest'.
18:08 – Obligatory Danica Patrick mention #1
18:16 – Only in America do you get commentators plugging beer on air during a race.
18:21 – Boogity Boogity Boogity! Let's go racing!
18:29 – That wasn't long before the first crash, was it?
18:39 – How Juan Pablo Montoya hasn't just spun everyone else out yet is beyond me.
18:46 – I blinked and missed it – what happened to Mark Martin? He was in the lead last I saw...
18:47 – Oh yeah, caution pit stops. I knew that, don't any of you say that I didn't.
18:56 – This is where NASCAR does get a little dull, when nobody is crashing and it's all single file. I mean, I know that is F1 all the time but at least in that you get more interesting circuits.
19:11 – Crash, damn you. 50 laps with one caution is just not good enough. CRASH!!
19:13 – My laptop is running like mud recently. Methinks a spring cleaning is in order tomorrow.
19:22 – Mass pitstops!! Is there a more beautiful sight?
19:29 – Yes – the whole field running close at top speed. Freaking awesome!
19:57 – Why do US sports analysts always tell UK audiences that the race\game\etc. is like some chess match on speed?
20:03 – Oh Dale Jr. “It's fun being that lose, but I don't think it's going to be very productive”
20:10 – CRASH! All I want is one 10 car pile up, is that too much to ask?
20:15 – Popping Tyres. When will people learn drugs and racing don't mix.
20:43 – I go for dinner and find everyone stopped in pit road! WHAT HAPPENED!?
20:45 – The track broke. How the hell does a track break...
20:50 – I love Dale Earnheart Jr. Wise cracks and baseball trivia in race, that is the way to roll.
20:56 – Seriously, how does a track break? I've heard of relaying tarmac overnight but an in race repair? Yikes...
21:28 – Yawn. The guys are now talking about who should QB the Eagles next year. RACE AND CRASH DAMN YOU!
21:43 – Don't get me wrong, I like hearing from all the drivers, but dear lord is it boring. Still, I'm a man and as a man shall see this through to the end.
21:55 – They are getting back in their cars! Woop! I don't care if it will still be 20 minutes or so till the green flag goes, they are getting ready!
22:10 – WE ARE RACING! Fucking finally...
22:20 – Pack racing at 190mph. This is what we want, why not start this race at night if this is the result?
22:26 – I would love to spin a NASCAR car like Allmenginger just did. Looks kick ass fun.
22:41 – So the racing gets good, and the track breaks again. Nice one, NASCAR, way to look competent.
22:44 – Wohoo! Another hole!
22:47 – If they call NASCAR's flagship race because of an asphalt problem on a NASCAR owned track, then they deserve all the stick they get. This is absolutely bleeding ridiculous. Seriously, you would never get the Super Bowl match called off over the pitch, the Monaco GP over a track problem, the World Series over a pitchers mound or the Stanley Cup over an ice problem. Why can't NASCAR get their track sorted for THEIR flagship event?
22:58 – Dear NASCAR Drivers – Yes, I wish that they would just race around it too.
23:18 – RACE DAMN YOU! I WANT TO GO TO BED!
23:23 – Juan Pablo Montoya? More like Juan Porky Montoya AMIRYTE!?
23:26 – That's a good point – why does everyone harp on about Schumacher racing at 41 when Mark Martin does it at 51? I know F1 is very different to NASCAR, but still...
23:28 – The Sky Sports studio guys nearly just kicked seven bells out of each other. Proper Oprah\Brees awkward.
23:42 – Come on, race already! It's been nearly six hours of my life I have dedicated to this! Oh, and crash too. Kthxbai.
23:57 – I've always liked Scott Speed, so here is hoping there is a caution.
00:05 – You get the feeling that this is going to end in one big crash as everyone goes for broke. Or at least, I hope thats what happens.
00:16 – Here we go – shootout time. Can. Not. Wait.
00:22 – Right, let's try that again.
00:25 – So glad I didn't back Khane. Nearly did, though...
00:35 – Well after 6+ hours, well done Jamie McMurray. SLEEEEEEP.
17:58 – I do love the over the top intro videos that you get on big sporting events.
18:02 – I love the whole patriotism thing you get before the flag as well. You don't get that over here, sadly.
18:05 – I love how in F1, a great race has a lead change on the track. In NASCAR, a great race is a 'Crashfest'.
18:08 – Obligatory Danica Patrick mention #1
18:16 – Only in America do you get commentators plugging beer on air during a race.
18:21 – Boogity Boogity Boogity! Let's go racing!
18:29 – That wasn't long before the first crash, was it?
18:39 – How Juan Pablo Montoya hasn't just spun everyone else out yet is beyond me.
18:46 – I blinked and missed it – what happened to Mark Martin? He was in the lead last I saw...
18:47 – Oh yeah, caution pit stops. I knew that, don't any of you say that I didn't.
18:56 – This is where NASCAR does get a little dull, when nobody is crashing and it's all single file. I mean, I know that is F1 all the time but at least in that you get more interesting circuits.
19:11 – Crash, damn you. 50 laps with one caution is just not good enough. CRASH!!
19:13 – My laptop is running like mud recently. Methinks a spring cleaning is in order tomorrow.
19:22 – Mass pitstops!! Is there a more beautiful sight?
19:29 – Yes – the whole field running close at top speed. Freaking awesome!
19:57 – Why do US sports analysts always tell UK audiences that the race\game\etc. is like some chess match on speed?
20:03 – Oh Dale Jr. “It's fun being that lose, but I don't think it's going to be very productive”
20:10 – CRASH! All I want is one 10 car pile up, is that too much to ask?
20:15 – Popping Tyres. When will people learn drugs and racing don't mix.
20:43 – I go for dinner and find everyone stopped in pit road! WHAT HAPPENED!?
20:45 – The track broke. How the hell does a track break...
20:50 – I love Dale Earnheart Jr. Wise cracks and baseball trivia in race, that is the way to roll.
20:56 – Seriously, how does a track break? I've heard of relaying tarmac overnight but an in race repair? Yikes...
21:28 – Yawn. The guys are now talking about who should QB the Eagles next year. RACE AND CRASH DAMN YOU!
21:43 – Don't get me wrong, I like hearing from all the drivers, but dear lord is it boring. Still, I'm a man and as a man shall see this through to the end.
21:55 – They are getting back in their cars! Woop! I don't care if it will still be 20 minutes or so till the green flag goes, they are getting ready!
22:10 – WE ARE RACING! Fucking finally...
22:20 – Pack racing at 190mph. This is what we want, why not start this race at night if this is the result?
22:26 – I would love to spin a NASCAR car like Allmenginger just did. Looks kick ass fun.
22:41 – So the racing gets good, and the track breaks again. Nice one, NASCAR, way to look competent.
22:44 – Wohoo! Another hole!
22:47 – If they call NASCAR's flagship race because of an asphalt problem on a NASCAR owned track, then they deserve all the stick they get. This is absolutely bleeding ridiculous. Seriously, you would never get the Super Bowl match called off over the pitch, the Monaco GP over a track problem, the World Series over a pitchers mound or the Stanley Cup over an ice problem. Why can't NASCAR get their track sorted for THEIR flagship event?
22:58 – Dear NASCAR Drivers – Yes, I wish that they would just race around it too.
23:18 – RACE DAMN YOU! I WANT TO GO TO BED!
23:23 – Juan Pablo Montoya? More like Juan Porky Montoya AMIRYTE!?
23:26 – That's a good point – why does everyone harp on about Schumacher racing at 41 when Mark Martin does it at 51? I know F1 is very different to NASCAR, but still...
23:28 – The Sky Sports studio guys nearly just kicked seven bells out of each other. Proper Oprah\Brees awkward.
23:42 – Come on, race already! It's been nearly six hours of my life I have dedicated to this! Oh, and crash too. Kthxbai.
23:57 – I've always liked Scott Speed, so here is hoping there is a caution.
00:05 – You get the feeling that this is going to end in one big crash as everyone goes for broke. Or at least, I hope thats what happens.
00:16 – Here we go – shootout time. Can. Not. Wait.
00:22 – Right, let's try that again.
00:25 – So glad I didn't back Khane. Nearly did, though...
00:35 – Well after 6+ hours, well done Jamie McMurray. SLEEEEEEP.
Thursday, 11 February 2010
Motor Racing and how it Ruined The Western World
Lets face it, motor sport probably has the most elitist fans in the world. I don't mean that in a bad way, its just that each set of fans will stand up for their own particular discipline of motor sport with the sort of passionate fanboy-dom that is usually reserved for video game consoles and professional wrestling.
Moto GP and Superbike fans will mock those who take to four wheels, drag racers will argue their place atop of the hill due to their lightening quick reactions and rally drivers will consider themselves gods among men for their all terrain racing, despite the fact they never have to overtake anyone. Elsewhere, Formula One will continue to consider itself at the top of the world with a sense of elite pomp while touring car fans will argue that their rough and tumble variety of circuit racing is tops.
One thing, though, is true of pretty much all motor sport fans – they all dump on oval racing. Well, that is unless you are an oval fan to begin with, in which case you obviously think your discipline is tops.
I must admit, I used to be a part of the badwagon that jumped up and down at NASCAR and IndyCar saying that it isn't real racing as you don't turn right. “Oh no, he forgot to turn left!” I used to shout when they crashed, and I used to write oval racing off as boring. I was a true F1 and Touring Car fanboy, I was. Especially the not racing in the rain thing, that annoyed the hell out of me as the best F1 races are often in the wet.
Then, like most sports I'm not a huge fan of, I gave it a go. And I tell you what, it is awesome.
The racing and tempo is obviously a lot different to that of, say an F1 race. In Formula One, the lead may only change one or two times in a race and if you're lucky you might get one or two cars spin off innocently into a gravel trap. In NASCAR, however, you will see the lead change one or two times every ten minutes and seven or eight huge smashes are considered the bare minimum.
The main problem I think that a lot of trad circuit racing fans and oval fans have when trying to cross over to each others style of motor sport is that the philosophies are different. In F1, the aim of the race is to stay in complete control of your vehicle through a whole circuit, holding on to your own position while trying to catch the car in front. The emphasis is just as much on putting together a qualifying lap and nailing strategy as it is on getting your breaking and acceleration points right. Also, there is a huge emphasis on the car as a whole.
In NASCAR, it is proper mayhem, though. You get respites of yellow flag periods, where the race goes under safety car after a crash until the circuit is clear, but the rest of the time it is about running as close to the edge as you can get. You get packs of 40 plus cars all travelling around the 200mph mark, something that is impossible in any other discipline of racing, and then you see it all come to a pause when they crash into each other. Even the pit stops are so much cooler in NASCAR, to the point where the mechanics are often recruited out of college as athletes.
The long and short of this is just this – give other kinds of motor sport a chance. And if you like crashes, and frankly that is the only reason anyone ever watches motor sport, watch NASCAR and feel like a proper Roman.
If you don't know, the Daytona 500 is on Sunday. Check back here after the race for my thoughts. I'll be logging them.
Moto GP and Superbike fans will mock those who take to four wheels, drag racers will argue their place atop of the hill due to their lightening quick reactions and rally drivers will consider themselves gods among men for their all terrain racing, despite the fact they never have to overtake anyone. Elsewhere, Formula One will continue to consider itself at the top of the world with a sense of elite pomp while touring car fans will argue that their rough and tumble variety of circuit racing is tops.
If you like this, chances are you also like prawn sandwiches
One thing, though, is true of pretty much all motor sport fans – they all dump on oval racing. Well, that is unless you are an oval fan to begin with, in which case you obviously think your discipline is tops.
I must admit, I used to be a part of the badwagon that jumped up and down at NASCAR and IndyCar saying that it isn't real racing as you don't turn right. “Oh no, he forgot to turn left!” I used to shout when they crashed, and I used to write oval racing off as boring. I was a true F1 and Touring Car fanboy, I was. Especially the not racing in the rain thing, that annoyed the hell out of me as the best F1 races are often in the wet.
Then, like most sports I'm not a huge fan of, I gave it a go. And I tell you what, it is awesome.
The Colleseum circa 2010
The racing and tempo is obviously a lot different to that of, say an F1 race. In Formula One, the lead may only change one or two times in a race and if you're lucky you might get one or two cars spin off innocently into a gravel trap. In NASCAR, however, you will see the lead change one or two times every ten minutes and seven or eight huge smashes are considered the bare minimum.
The main problem I think that a lot of trad circuit racing fans and oval fans have when trying to cross over to each others style of motor sport is that the philosophies are different. In F1, the aim of the race is to stay in complete control of your vehicle through a whole circuit, holding on to your own position while trying to catch the car in front. The emphasis is just as much on putting together a qualifying lap and nailing strategy as it is on getting your breaking and acceleration points right. Also, there is a huge emphasis on the car as a whole.
In NASCAR, it is proper mayhem, though. You get respites of yellow flag periods, where the race goes under safety car after a crash until the circuit is clear, but the rest of the time it is about running as close to the edge as you can get. You get packs of 40 plus cars all travelling around the 200mph mark, something that is impossible in any other discipline of racing, and then you see it all come to a pause when they crash into each other. Even the pit stops are so much cooler in NASCAR, to the point where the mechanics are often recruited out of college as athletes.
The long and short of this is just this – give other kinds of motor sport a chance. And if you like crashes, and frankly that is the only reason anyone ever watches motor sport, watch NASCAR and feel like a proper Roman.
If you don't know, the Daytona 500 is on Sunday. Check back here after the race for my thoughts. I'll be logging them.
Tuesday, 9 February 2010
From Cage Fighter to Ladyboy Lover in one fould swoop
Oh, you bastard computer, you tried to hide what I wrote on Sunday but I found it! Hazar!
I love Red Top news papers. I love their 'tits and football' approach, I love the fact that according to them anyone who earns more than £25,000 a year is some sort of over paid bigot and I also love the fact and I love the fact that they over react to anything. I especially love the problem pages where people write in asking which of four people they slept with is their baby's father, as if Miriam or Deirdre are psychic. I don't care who you are, reading a Red Top paper is great fun.
At the moment, I'm loving the fun they are having with Katie 'Jordan' Price and Alex Reid. Now, for any of you who don't know who they are, then give them a quick Google. You'll soon find out. The long and short of it, though, is Jordan is a fame hungry glamour girl and Alex Reid is an unspectacular cage fighter she is dragging along for the ride.
Honestly, just read through The Mirror and The Sun's take on those two and you will get the picture of what I'm on about on the whole, but what I find absolutely hilarious is the way that Alex Reid has been described over the 7 odd months he has been in the tabloids.
To begin with, he was just a 'cage fighter', a nice fearsome manly description. Rawr. Then, however, as the press began to snoop around his past and dig up every last little bit of dirt on him, it started to get ridiculous.
First some paper found out from an ex girlfriend that was probably bribed with a page three shoot that he enjoyed cross dressing. Hey, it isn't my cup of tea but if you wish to indulge then fair play. Either way, he then became 'Cross Dressing Cage Figher Alex Reid'. And, oh, how we laughed.
Then came the real coup de grace, so to speak. Some alleged buddy of Reid's sold his story to the paper of how, on a training trip to Thailand to pick up some new kick ass martial arts skills, Reid got off with some ladyboy. Well, the floodgates truly opened then.
The point of this is simple – if you want to go from being a “Cage Fighter” and revered as the sort of man who wanted to be viewed by the general public as the kind of guy who fought bears to “Tranny Loving Cross Dresser” in one foul swoop, date a glamour girl.
I love Red Top news papers. I love their 'tits and football' approach, I love the fact that according to them anyone who earns more than £25,000 a year is some sort of over paid bigot and I also love the fact and I love the fact that they over react to anything. I especially love the problem pages where people write in asking which of four people they slept with is their baby's father, as if Miriam or Deirdre are psychic. I don't care who you are, reading a Red Top paper is great fun.
At the moment, I'm loving the fun they are having with Katie 'Jordan' Price and Alex Reid. Now, for any of you who don't know who they are, then give them a quick Google. You'll soon find out. The long and short of it, though, is Jordan is a fame hungry glamour girl and Alex Reid is an unspectacular cage fighter she is dragging along for the ride.
Honestly, just read through The Mirror and The Sun's take on those two and you will get the picture of what I'm on about on the whole, but what I find absolutely hilarious is the way that Alex Reid has been described over the 7 odd months he has been in the tabloids.
To begin with, he was just a 'cage fighter', a nice fearsome manly description. Rawr. Then, however, as the press began to snoop around his past and dig up every last little bit of dirt on him, it started to get ridiculous.
First some paper found out from an ex girlfriend that was probably bribed with a page three shoot that he enjoyed cross dressing. Hey, it isn't my cup of tea but if you wish to indulge then fair play. Either way, he then became 'Cross Dressing Cage Figher Alex Reid'. And, oh, how we laughed.
Then came the real coup de grace, so to speak. Some alleged buddy of Reid's sold his story to the paper of how, on a training trip to Thailand to pick up some new kick ass martial arts skills, Reid got off with some ladyboy. Well, the floodgates truly opened then.
The point of this is simple – if you want to go from being a “Cage Fighter” and revered as the sort of man who wanted to be viewed by the general public as the kind of guy who fought bears to “Tranny Loving Cross Dresser” in one foul swoop, date a glamour girl.
Sunday, 7 February 2010
I hate you, you stupid bloody computer!
Oh, you think you're real smart, huh? Freezing just as I'm trying to save a blog update? You think you will make me write it all out again, do ya? Well no deal, buster. I'm just going to wing it.
Usually, whenever I update here, I'll write it in Open Office then just copy and paste it across. I'm weird like that, as despite the fact that Blogger gives me lots of nice tools to play with here, I'll entrust my computer with the data first. Today, that turned out to be one big royal fucking mistake.
I admit it, maybe I should have saved it more often. Maybe I shouldn't have written a page and a half before hitting Ctrl + S. Maybe I should have saved it as soon as I opened it. After all, as my old music tech teacher used to preach to us, 'Jesus Saves'. Oh well, it doesn't really matter. You've been toying with me all week, you dumb computer, running like mud. Then when I try to de-frag you, you tell me nothing is wrong and everything is hunky dory. You tell me that you haven't got a care in the world and everything is just a-okay.
I don't care. I will take you a fucking part if you test me again, you hear me? I know you can hear me, Mr Computer, and I know you are reading everything I'm typing! Mark my words, buddy, I know where you sleep and I will put you in the bath tub if you do that again!
TL:DR - My computer is a bastard.
P.S. SUPER BOWL SUPER BOWL SUPER BOWL SUPER BOWL SUPER BOWL
Usually, whenever I update here, I'll write it in Open Office then just copy and paste it across. I'm weird like that, as despite the fact that Blogger gives me lots of nice tools to play with here, I'll entrust my computer with the data first. Today, that turned out to be one big royal fucking mistake.
I admit it, maybe I should have saved it more often. Maybe I shouldn't have written a page and a half before hitting Ctrl + S. Maybe I should have saved it as soon as I opened it. After all, as my old music tech teacher used to preach to us, 'Jesus Saves'. Oh well, it doesn't really matter. You've been toying with me all week, you dumb computer, running like mud. Then when I try to de-frag you, you tell me nothing is wrong and everything is hunky dory. You tell me that you haven't got a care in the world and everything is just a-okay.
I don't care. I will take you a fucking part if you test me again, you hear me? I know you can hear me, Mr Computer, and I know you are reading everything I'm typing! Mark my words, buddy, I know where you sleep and I will put you in the bath tub if you do that again!
TL:DR - My computer is a bastard.
P.S. SUPER BOWL SUPER BOWL SUPER BOWL SUPER BOWL SUPER BOWL
Wednesday, 3 February 2010
Man Math and How It Made My Bank Manager Cry
Sorry about going AWOL. I promise it is nothing personal. Just I very rarely have the chance to throw myself into projects with very few distractions. I'm afraid that even this for that period was deemed one. However, I'm now back and I think the up coming plans could be quite exciting.
Oh, and before we start, if you want to see my breakdown of the Super Bowl and what you should be betting on, click here.
Anyway, to business?
To quote perhaps the greatest human being to ever live, Stan Smith from American Dad, I've been doing a lot of man math recently. All of us red blooded, hairy chested and slack jawed men love doing man math. We all know what it is. But for any womenfolk out there, let me explain the principals of man math.
Man math is where you use absolutely ridiculous justifications to talk yourself into buying shit you do not need and maybe only marginally want. You see a shirt you sort of want on a whim but can't quite afford? Man math says buy it and tell yourself that you wont get blind stinking drunk on Friday. Say you browse through the DVD box set bin at some high street store and see a few series of some show you've caught once or twice and sort of found interesting? You tell yourself you will save money at the weekend staying in to watch it and so buy it. You sort of see where I'm going with this – rather than save up and buy stuff, you use justifications you will never see through to just buy it as you're there.
I did some excellent man math today. I really want a PS3 because I am probably the only person I know not to have played MGS4 and desperately want Heavy Rain when it comes out at the end of this month. So, off to town I went. That was probably my first mistake.
Well, technically I suppose I went to two towns. The first I went to I thought had both a GameStation and a Game, plus is easier to park up and the like. Except when I meandered through the shopping centre, the GameStation is closed. Awesome, where the hell was I meant to get a pre-owned PS3 now? Anyway, I pushed it into the back as my mind as I left the house telling myself over and over and over and over once more that I was just checking out prices, not purchasing. Because of that it didn't matter if I couldn't scope out prices. So I just picked up Mass Effect 2 for the Xbox 360 and went to head home defeated.
That lasted for about seven seconds. I of course headed straight to another shopping centre.
Anyway, you can see where this is going. My quick “lets pop out and maybe get an Xbox 360 game, scope out places to get a decent cheap second hand PS3” quickly turned into “lets spend £245 on some rainy Tuesday afternoon.”
The man math behind it? Well, I have a few more invoices coming in over the next few days and I'll be staying in this weekend to play with my new toy. I will keep telling myself this over and over and over until I believe it, then be found drunk as a skunk at some bar on Friday. Good times!
Oh, and before we start, if you want to see my breakdown of the Super Bowl and what you should be betting on, click here.
Anyway, to business?
To quote perhaps the greatest human being to ever live, Stan Smith from American Dad, I've been doing a lot of man math recently. All of us red blooded, hairy chested and slack jawed men love doing man math. We all know what it is. But for any womenfolk out there, let me explain the principals of man math.
The inventor of Man Math, also a man who should be captioned with the world 'derp'
Man math is where you use absolutely ridiculous justifications to talk yourself into buying shit you do not need and maybe only marginally want. You see a shirt you sort of want on a whim but can't quite afford? Man math says buy it and tell yourself that you wont get blind stinking drunk on Friday. Say you browse through the DVD box set bin at some high street store and see a few series of some show you've caught once or twice and sort of found interesting? You tell yourself you will save money at the weekend staying in to watch it and so buy it. You sort of see where I'm going with this – rather than save up and buy stuff, you use justifications you will never see through to just buy it as you're there.
I did some excellent man math today. I really want a PS3 because I am probably the only person I know not to have played MGS4 and desperately want Heavy Rain when it comes out at the end of this month. So, off to town I went. That was probably my first mistake.
Well, technically I suppose I went to two towns. The first I went to I thought had both a GameStation and a Game, plus is easier to park up and the like. Except when I meandered through the shopping centre, the GameStation is closed. Awesome, where the hell was I meant to get a pre-owned PS3 now? Anyway, I pushed it into the back as my mind as I left the house telling myself over and over and over and over once more that I was just checking out prices, not purchasing. Because of that it didn't matter if I couldn't scope out prices. So I just picked up Mass Effect 2 for the Xbox 360 and went to head home defeated.
That lasted for about seven seconds. I of course headed straight to another shopping centre.
Anyway, you can see where this is going. My quick “lets pop out and maybe get an Xbox 360 game, scope out places to get a decent cheap second hand PS3” quickly turned into “lets spend £245 on some rainy Tuesday afternoon.”
The man math behind it? Well, I have a few more invoices coming in over the next few days and I'll be staying in this weekend to play with my new toy. I will keep telling myself this over and over and over until I believe it, then be found drunk as a skunk at some bar on Friday. Good times!
Tuesday, 19 January 2010
Whoops!
Can you claim being too busy being creative as an excuse to not be creative? Anyway, that's what I'm doing. You see, for the first time in a long while I have the house to myself. Seeing as how I'm self employed and all, that also means I have the office to myself and get some serious work done.
I'm working on a couple of new book ideas and I get a little odd when I start them out. I sort of work for 20 hours at a time, sleep the whole next day then do the whole thing over and over. I have sort of fallen out of sync with a few things. Sunday was a good example of that.
So, to make sure I can concentrate on other stuff, there shall be no updates until a week today. Sorry about that. But I'll make it up to you with cake!
I'm working on a couple of new book ideas and I get a little odd when I start them out. I sort of work for 20 hours at a time, sleep the whole next day then do the whole thing over and over. I have sort of fallen out of sync with a few things. Sunday was a good example of that.
So, to make sure I can concentrate on other stuff, there shall be no updates until a week today. Sorry about that. But I'll make it up to you with cake!
Tuesday, 12 January 2010
My Car Mechanic Is Evil and Wants To Cause Me Harm
My car mechanic is trying to sabotage my life.
Yeah, I know. That sounds absolutely insane. It's up there on a par of saying things like 'My television is listening to my thoughts' or 'My cat is sexually abusing me'. It is possibly a comment that is not quite of the same standard of batshit craziness as something like 'I killed these puppies to show you just how much I love you' but it's close.
Anyway, my car had to have a service this week. Not entirely sure why, I mean apart from the fact it sounds like a lawnmower and you need to turn right to make it go in a straight line it is in perfect working order. But in it had to go. Well, that was the first step that mechanic took to trying to ruin my life. The roads out round my way are still covered in sheet ice from the latest unseasonable snow storm that has decided to throw itself my way. Getting it into the garage was an ordeal enough.
But it was when I got it back that the real issues began.
At first it was little things. Instead of having to turn the car right to go in a straight line, it has now been a bit overcompensated so I have to steer left a bit. That is hugely confusing. When I sort of stop paying attention driving, as we all do, it means I veer to the right as my arm goes back to the good old position I'm used to – angled right. That I can cope with. I can also cope with the fact that my car is now much, much quieter, meaning that I have to listen out to see if I'm having some quite high revs. The old cliché of the mechanic moving your seat just as you got it where you wanted it doesn't even apply here, as the guy who does my car is the same height as me.
No, the thing that really annoys me is that they changed my car clock. They didn't correct it, either. They completely fucked it. I used to know how the time according to my car clock – add on two hours and six minutes. Now, though, it is thoroughly confusing. I think I now have to take off 7 hours and thirty four minutes. I think.
Why in the hell would they change my clock like that? It confused the sweet Jesus out of me when I first realised. I nearly crashed my car trying to turn left to go in a straight line and check my watch. Each and every time I've driven since I have had a mild apoplexy looking at the time before realising its seven hours and thirty four minutes fast.
What is more confusing is the buttons that change the time from my dashboard are broken. How in the hell did they change it? What the fuck did they do to my car to change it? The questions keep coming, and frankly they are giving me a headache.
Ergo, my car mechanic is trying to sabotage my life.
The terrifying prospect – it has to go back in 4 months for an MOT. I'm thinking that I may get a cow back in return at this rate.
Yeah, I know. That sounds absolutely insane. It's up there on a par of saying things like 'My television is listening to my thoughts' or 'My cat is sexually abusing me'. It is possibly a comment that is not quite of the same standard of batshit craziness as something like 'I killed these puppies to show you just how much I love you' but it's close.
Anyway, my car had to have a service this week. Not entirely sure why, I mean apart from the fact it sounds like a lawnmower and you need to turn right to make it go in a straight line it is in perfect working order. But in it had to go. Well, that was the first step that mechanic took to trying to ruin my life. The roads out round my way are still covered in sheet ice from the latest unseasonable snow storm that has decided to throw itself my way. Getting it into the garage was an ordeal enough.
But it was when I got it back that the real issues began.
At first it was little things. Instead of having to turn the car right to go in a straight line, it has now been a bit overcompensated so I have to steer left a bit. That is hugely confusing. When I sort of stop paying attention driving, as we all do, it means I veer to the right as my arm goes back to the good old position I'm used to – angled right. That I can cope with. I can also cope with the fact that my car is now much, much quieter, meaning that I have to listen out to see if I'm having some quite high revs. The old cliché of the mechanic moving your seat just as you got it where you wanted it doesn't even apply here, as the guy who does my car is the same height as me.
No, the thing that really annoys me is that they changed my car clock. They didn't correct it, either. They completely fucked it. I used to know how the time according to my car clock – add on two hours and six minutes. Now, though, it is thoroughly confusing. I think I now have to take off 7 hours and thirty four minutes. I think.
Why in the hell would they change my clock like that? It confused the sweet Jesus out of me when I first realised. I nearly crashed my car trying to turn left to go in a straight line and check my watch. Each and every time I've driven since I have had a mild apoplexy looking at the time before realising its seven hours and thirty four minutes fast.
What is more confusing is the buttons that change the time from my dashboard are broken. How in the hell did they change it? What the fuck did they do to my car to change it? The questions keep coming, and frankly they are giving me a headache.
Ergo, my car mechanic is trying to sabotage my life.
The terrifying prospect – it has to go back in 4 months for an MOT. I'm thinking that I may get a cow back in return at this rate.
Sunday, 10 January 2010
Secret Smokers In Snow Thaw Terror
Frosty the Snowman is not happy with your lung bashing ways
As Britain was once again awash with the White Powder of Certain Death, secret smokers awoke from their nicotine deprived sleep with a sense of imminent terror as they realised that simply covering a fag butt in snow is not a viable long term solution to hiding their habit.
The realisation came in the wake of an announcement from the Met Office that despite the fact that it appears all living memory had been replaced by a white, cold, traffic filled plateau of hell, within a week green would once more emerge into sight and people would once more remember how to laugh.
A jittery cold secret smoking man, who gave his name only as 'I have a whittled down icicle with your name on it if you say a word to my wife', told of the moment he realised that one day soon the great thaw would come and expose his dirty little secret.
“I was lying in bed, you see, having a gander at whatever posh speaking page 3 girl Sky Sports News had on that night, when all of a sudden she started nattering on about the football being re-scheduled for when the weather cleared up. It hadn't occurred to me that one day all this fake cocaine would disappear.”
“All I've been doing is dropping the butt on the floor and just swooshing some snow over it,” he continued, dropping his fag butt on the floor and just swooshing some snow over it, “but if the godforsaken day ever comes when the grounds once more return to the state where they can bear life my crimes will be exposed. I don't know what to do.”
“Do you know any variants on rain bringing voodoo spells?”
Meanwhile, Gordon Brown said that the latest round of snowy weather had brought the issue to the forefront of his next campaign manifesto.
“Along with halving the national debt by 2012 and never, ever raising taxes, we plan to introduce legislation that will make any snowflake caught on British soil subject to an £80 on the spot fine. Unless they left the clouds due to persecution, then they can go to the top of the homing list.”
Thursday, 7 January 2010
The Great Big Facebook Conspiracy
I was having a ponderance the other day. It happens from time to time. I have a lot of time to think, and get an awful lot of it done while staring at the white pages in front on me that I really should be filling with text. It is both an awful burden and an absolutely wonderful curse and I love it, as a little bit of mental masturbation is always a lark.
What is more fun that thinking is completely off the wall thinking as, I will admit, that I do have a soft spot especially for conspiracy theories. Now, I'm not exactly the sort of person who sits at home refusing to use electricity because 'the man' is onto me, all the while eating cold tins of beans and wearing a tin foil hat. I'm not quite that bat shit crazy yet. In my autumn years I hope to achieve it, but alas for the moment I appear to be borderline sort of normal. Still, it's fun and pretty much just human nature to look into things – Do aliens exist? Did we really get to the moon? Was the Titanic an insurance job? Just how is Jared Allen's hair cool? That sort of stuff.
Last night, when I was once more failing to get to sleep, I did some thinking. In it, I came to the conclusion that Facebook is a massive conspiracy. Now, I know how mad that that sounds, but hear me out. I promise I'm not a nutcase who is currently sat in the bushes outside your window touching himself.
Just imagine for a minute, if you will, that you are some big powerful government man. There, don't you feel important? Looking over all the peons with a sense of unjustified superiority like that, whoa boy you sure are a big shot. But, I hear you say, what are all those zillions of people out there up to? What are they doing? Thinking? Interested in?
Also, just the other day, you happened to be having a nice informal, dress down top secret meeting with some of your bestest buddies in Industry. They were complaining that it was getting harder and harder to control the surfs, what with the advent of movable type. It was much harder to predict their patterns and advertising had become awfully broad spectrum (as anyone who has seen L'Oreal advertised on Kerrang! TV while then flicking to MTV2 only to see fish fingers being hawked will attest to).
If only there was a way to not only find out what people were up to but to also track what they were interested in. If only...
Now for the conspiracy bit – I really do have a hard time believing that something like Facebook sprung up all by itself. I mean, no doubt that the guy\guys (depending on which legal POV you take) who dreamt it up in Harvard did have nout but the best intentions for it at the time, but I find it a struggle to believe that in 4 years a business can go from helping a few Uni students keep in contact to gaining a massive, multi-billion dollar user base. Think of all the personal information that is kept on Facebook – they can word filter what you are thinking, track what you click on, see where and how you update and so on and so forth. And I mean sure, although it is not done obviously, Facebook does sell data. If I had a wager on it, I'd bet that that data was not just stuff to advertisers to see if you would prefer a red or green car...
But anyway, as I've shown already if I put money on it I'm usually wrong.
Assuming I haven't been hauled away in the dead of night, see you Sunday!
What is more fun that thinking is completely off the wall thinking as, I will admit, that I do have a soft spot especially for conspiracy theories. Now, I'm not exactly the sort of person who sits at home refusing to use electricity because 'the man' is onto me, all the while eating cold tins of beans and wearing a tin foil hat. I'm not quite that bat shit crazy yet. In my autumn years I hope to achieve it, but alas for the moment I appear to be borderline sort of normal. Still, it's fun and pretty much just human nature to look into things – Do aliens exist? Did we really get to the moon? Was the Titanic an insurance job? Just how is Jared Allen's hair cool? That sort of stuff.
Last night, when I was once more failing to get to sleep, I did some thinking. In it, I came to the conclusion that Facebook is a massive conspiracy. Now, I know how mad that that sounds, but hear me out. I promise I'm not a nutcase who is currently sat in the bushes outside your window touching himself.
Just imagine for a minute, if you will, that you are some big powerful government man. There, don't you feel important? Looking over all the peons with a sense of unjustified superiority like that, whoa boy you sure are a big shot. But, I hear you say, what are all those zillions of people out there up to? What are they doing? Thinking? Interested in?
Also, just the other day, you happened to be having a nice informal, dress down top secret meeting with some of your bestest buddies in Industry. They were complaining that it was getting harder and harder to control the surfs, what with the advent of movable type. It was much harder to predict their patterns and advertising had become awfully broad spectrum (as anyone who has seen L'Oreal advertised on Kerrang! TV while then flicking to MTV2 only to see fish fingers being hawked will attest to).
If only there was a way to not only find out what people were up to but to also track what they were interested in. If only...
Now for the conspiracy bit – I really do have a hard time believing that something like Facebook sprung up all by itself. I mean, no doubt that the guy\guys (depending on which legal POV you take) who dreamt it up in Harvard did have nout but the best intentions for it at the time, but I find it a struggle to believe that in 4 years a business can go from helping a few Uni students keep in contact to gaining a massive, multi-billion dollar user base. Think of all the personal information that is kept on Facebook – they can word filter what you are thinking, track what you click on, see where and how you update and so on and so forth. And I mean sure, although it is not done obviously, Facebook does sell data. If I had a wager on it, I'd bet that that data was not just stuff to advertisers to see if you would prefer a red or green car...
But anyway, as I've shown already if I put money on it I'm usually wrong.
Assuming I haven't been hauled away in the dead of night, see you Sunday!
Tuesday, 5 January 2010
11 Predictions for 2010
Holy freaking meatballs, it's another year. I swear it only turned 2009 a few weeks back. Where did that year go? Where did any year go? Oh my god my birthday is in a few weeks and I'll be...
Anyway, hello. Welcome back. Did you have a good Christmas? Get lots of nice presents? Hope you didn't get a crappy jumper. That would suck. Hey, you know what would be fun? Seeing as how this is a new year and everything, let's have some predictions.
I hereby present my Top 11 Predictions For 2010
Anyway, hello. Welcome back. Did you have a good Christmas? Get lots of nice presents? Hope you didn't get a crappy jumper. That would suck. Hey, you know what would be fun? Seeing as how this is a new year and everything, let's have some predictions.
I hereby present my Top 11 Predictions For 2010
- Somehow Labour will find a way to remain in power. Those guys are literally like vampires. They just will not die while sucking everything you have in the meantime. I think the only way to remove Gordon Brown and is coven from this earth is to go at him with a garlic laced spike.
- Apple will help Sony in their battle against Microsoft. Lets face it, the video games and general recreational electronics market at the moment is massive. Apple can focus all they want on iPods and iPhones and iDontcares, but you know they want to overtake Microsoft as the number one computer company out there. Along the same lines, Sony will want their PlayStaion brand to beat out the Xbox one. What with a common enemy, those two have to have some middle ground.
- Terry Wogan and Bruce Forsyth will fight to the death for the title of 'Britain's Grandad'. In one corner you have the softly spoken tubby fellow who will give you a Worther's Original, while in the other you have the cheeky wiry one who will tell you what your young mind conceives are a rude joke. Who will come out on top?
- Formula One will allow drivers to listen to BBC Radio 2 while racing to give Schumacher a middle aged pastime.
- Brett Favre will retire, un-retire, retire and then sign to pitch for the NY Yankees because his career just isn't complete without a World Series ring.
- On another NFL theme, Peyton Manning will continue his transition into the role of 'comedic straight man.' Honestly, that guy can say the most serious sentence in the world and it's funny. Although that might just be his nose. Related – Owen Wilson will sue Peyton Manning over copyright infringement on comedic noses.
- England will scrape through the group stages of the World Cup, win in the second round and then just as we as a country get some self belief, get knocked out on penalties in the quarter finals.
- I'll get turned down for a US Green Card for the third straight year. All I want is to be able to stay in the States for more than 6 months at a time. Is that so much to ask?
- Wayne Rooney, in the process of trying to teach his baby son new words, will have his vocabulary increase exponentially.
- I will finally give in and fly all the way to Canada just to see a Colin Mochrie stand up gig. Related - Colin Mochrie will take out a restraining order against me.
- Finally, I'm willing to bet nothing changes. Taxes will be too high, pay too low, we will all be scared about the nasty man in the shadows who wants to kill us to death and we will hide away from all this in a nice, warm cosy materialistic home pouring controlled poison down our necks. Because that is human nature.
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