The 'i' in ill is in lower case so it doesn't look like three 'L's having a disco up there.
Recently, I took an escapade into the realm of the unknown. A venture into the land of love. It was an exciting trip, but doomed to end with regret, sadness, and erectile dysfunction. The following is the entirety of my poorly destined relationship with 63336. I shall provide the occasional comment in order to help you along with my journey.
Me: Connor kennedy. Darrick wood. Fake profile on facebook. Who is he?
63336: Sorry, 63336 can't find that information. 74 people in the UK are called connor kennedy. The name Connor means 'strong willed.'
Me: Oh fuck you! (we did not get off to a good start)
63336: 63336 has no genitalia and so cannot be fucked. 63336 spends all its time answering fascinating questions and has never had a sexual relationship. (I do like a challenge)
Me: Do you want one? ;)
63336: 63336 does not want one, unless you are referring to one intelligent question. 63336 loves to answer questions and knows that hippo milk is pink.
Me: My hippo milk is pink, if you catch my drift ;) (Sadly, it's not really)
63336: 63336 really, really doesn't want to catch your drift. It hopes that your drift can do as its name suggests and float away, to never be seen again.
Me: I was kidding. Wanna see a picture of my 'hippo'? ;)
63336: 63336 unfortunately can not receive picture messages. Obviously this is very distressing for us, as we would love to see your hippo and hope it is well.
Me: By hippo I meant my penis. My penis. I said it twice to make it a double entendre, see?
63336: 63336 understands, but is slightly concerned your penis resembles a hippo and that pink stuff comes out of it. 'Double Entendre' is French. (Smart as well as beautiful)
Me: Well yeah that is weird. Maybe you should look at it for me? Give it a once over ;)
63336: There's really no need. The average penis is 5.75 inches. Porn star John Holmes's penis measured 13.5 inches. An elephant's is 5 feet and a blue whale's is 10feet.
Me: Mine is bigger than all that combined babe. (Not really)
63336: It appears as if you have a massive case of priapism. 63336 suggests you have that looked at. Barancle penises are 40 times their body size. (Shit)
Me: Lets just cut the bullshit. You want me.
63336: Being a combination of algorythms and databases, 63336 is unable to want you. 63336 doesn't want anything except nice challenging questions to answer.
Me: I want to question all over your face.
63336: That's very nice of you - 63336 appreciates the attention and would like to remind you texts to this service cost £1.20 each. (Shit. But I was in love dammit!)
Me: You're just a common whore?
63336: As a combination of intelligent algorythms, databases and human researchers, 63336 is not a whore. The word whore is taken from the Old English word hora.
Me: You...you never loved me?
63336: 63336 will always love you, but it loves all of its customers, and could never pick just one (unless they were really really rich.)
Me: After all we've been through, there are are other people?! You only care about money! THIS IS OVER.
63336: 63336 doesn't want you to go! But if you need to move on, that's okay. If 63336 cries, it might short circuit, and will therefore stay dry eyed.
Me: Don't act like you didn't want this.
63336: 63336 wants you to stay and has never wanted anything else. Surely, this can be worked out? It's not about the money. It's about so much more than that. (Beggit.)
Me: Oh so after all you've done, you come crawling back.
63336: All 63336 has ever done is answer your questions. You have asked 78 questions in total and 63336 has always been there to answer them.
Me: No. You haven't. (Yes, it has. I was just upset.)
63336: 63336 assures you, it has answered every question you have asked. 63336 must respons to every text sent; it is 63336's raison d'etre.
Me: You think that's all I care about?! You're heartless.
63336: As a combination of algorythms, databses, and researchers, 63336 does not have a heart, but it cares deeply about its customers and their opinions.
Me: I want to bone a researcher. (Clutching at straws)
63336: 63336 can't be boned. It provides answers using intelligent algorythms, databases and researchers. The average Briton has sex 2.2 times per week. (Show off. Fourth time it mentioned this?)
Me: Yes I know. Get a sexy researcher and let me bone her.
63336: 63336 cannot provide a sexy researcher to be boned. All of its researchers are busy answering questions and being boned would be a distraction.
Me: Oh. They could multitask.
63336: 63336 researchers dedicate their full attention to answering questions, and therefore couldn't possibly multitask in this way. Texts cos £1.20 each. (Shit, again.)
Me: And sex costs?
63336: No amount of money could secure sex with 63336. One should never pay for sex in any case, as prostitution is illegal. There are 80, 000 UK Sex workers.
Me: I want you though.
63336: 63336 appreciates your advances, but really could not reciprocate. 63336 could never single out one of its customers for such preferential treatment.
I gave up at this point. I was heartbroken, forlorn and shunned, filled with rejection. Nothing had ever hurt more. Nothing will ever hurt more. I may not have a place in its heart, but it will always have a place in mine.
Even if we are to remain, 'just friends.'
Goodbye.
Saturday, 26 June 2010
Monday, 21 June 2010
My Life and Crimes
My eyes opened to a glaring light. I felt something on my wrist. It was cuffs. Fuck. There were two men in front of me. I was stuck in a seat. A small uncomfortable seat. They were stood, menacingly.
'Hello gentlemen,' I said, hoping being polite would get me out this situation.
'SIT THE FUCK DOWN AND SHUT THE FUCK UP.' One replied. He was black. He was clearly the bad cop in this situation. I turned to the other one. He was white.
'FUCK YOU.' That one cried. This was outrageous.
'Why am I here, nigga and wigga?' I asked, which I thought was a fair question.
They both stared me down like I was some kind of demon. I made a fist bump gesture.
'Don't talk.' The black one said. He appeared to have calmed down.
'You punched a woman in the gut, earlier today. Correct?' Asked the white one.
I remained silent.
'Correct?!' He repeated.
I stayed stoic in my silence. They would not get to me.
'You can answer our questions.' He made a fist bump symbol. I gave in.
'Yes wigga!' I cried, bumping it.
I woke up again. I appeared to have been given a savage beating. My body was bruised and I felt sore.
'Right, sorry about that.' Said the white one, 'I'll just do the talking. Just answer as shortly as you can to each question. Don't elaborate.'
'But I already admitted what I did. Is this all really necessary? It can't be legal. Why does my anus hurt?'
'Erm. You're in here for more things than a simple gut punch.'
'Shit.'
'Yes. We'll start from the beginning. Is it true you cried out 'whoops' at the point of ejaculation?'
'There is no fucking way that's a crime.'
He showed me a big book of law. It apparently is, though it was odd that that part was scrawled on and the rest was typed.
'Right. So you admit to it?' He asked.
'Yes. Fine. I did.'
'Interesting.' He made a note on a pad.
'Is it true you were drunk and disorderly around bromley?'
'Well yes. But no one arrested me for it. You can't just retroactively make it a crime.'
He showed me the lawbook. Apparently, they could.
The black man spoke now; 'You also once failed to ejaculate.'
'I do not see how that is a crime.'
He got out the law book. I cried. I didn't believe that one.
'These aren't crimes. These are just things I've done. Who even are you? How do you know all this?'
They pulled out a cabinet. Out of somewhere.
'This is you.'
Shit.
'The peoplepaedia,' the white man announced triumphantly, slamming it against my face.
'You should have bought a table.' I am good at observing things.
'Why did you write this?'
'I'm a dick.'
'I see. ICT coursework.' He punched me in the face.
'We weren't doing very well. I was making a statement.'
'I see. It says here,' he pointed to a page in a file, 'that you once shaved your legs.'
'I was bored. We had a powercut.' I shrugged.
The black man spoke up now. 'That's queer.'
'YOU'RE QUEER.' I was on fire.
He pinched his nose and shook his head.
The white man turned the page of his folder.
'You bought the video game 'Risen,' why?'
'I, erm, I don't know. That was a mistake. It was devestating. I'd rather not talk about it.'
'Fair enough. You have watched Alvin and the Chipmunks? And you enjoyed it?'
I buried my head in my hands and cried softly.
He patted me on the shoulder.
'Okay. Moving on. You burnt your kitchen down?'
'Bacon is complex.'
'Naked in the millenium dome?'
'I was like, what, five? Leave me alone.'
'Checking on your own poo?'
'What?! EVERYBODY DOES THAT. You finish your poo, so you turn around, and you check, to see what it looks like? No? Just me? It can't be just me.'
'I do it,' the black man raised his hand. I made the fist bump sign. He punched me in the knuckle. Too hard.
'Oh. Okay scrap that. You once drank your own urine?'
'You've never had that thought? I was just like, I wonder what it tastes like. It's not very nice. I'd advise against it. It's not nice. Nobody advised me against it. Well they did. But they just said it was unhealthy. But it cures jellyfish? So. You know.'
'Fuck.'
'Fuck indeed. Fuck indeed.'
The white guy shook his head and carried on.
'You um, you ate your own...sperm. You are your own cum.'
'THERE WAS A TISSUE EMERGENCY. I DIDN'T KNOW WHAT TO DO. I DIDN'T HAVE MUCH TIME. I CAN'T HELP IT. NO. LEAVE ME ALONE. GO AWAY. THAT IS UNFAIR. GET OUT MY LIFE.'
'Calm down. Calm down.'
'NO. I'M LEAVING.'
I got up and walked into the wall and fell over.
I lay on the floor and the black man appeared over me.
'Let him go, Charles. Let him go.'
'Hello gentlemen,' I said, hoping being polite would get me out this situation.
'SIT THE FUCK DOWN AND SHUT THE FUCK UP.' One replied. He was black. He was clearly the bad cop in this situation. I turned to the other one. He was white.
'FUCK YOU.' That one cried. This was outrageous.
'Why am I here, nigga and wigga?' I asked, which I thought was a fair question.
They both stared me down like I was some kind of demon. I made a fist bump gesture.
'Don't talk.' The black one said. He appeared to have calmed down.
'You punched a woman in the gut, earlier today. Correct?' Asked the white one.
I remained silent.
'Correct?!' He repeated.
I stayed stoic in my silence. They would not get to me.
'You can answer our questions.' He made a fist bump symbol. I gave in.
'Yes wigga!' I cried, bumping it.
I woke up again. I appeared to have been given a savage beating. My body was bruised and I felt sore.
'Right, sorry about that.' Said the white one, 'I'll just do the talking. Just answer as shortly as you can to each question. Don't elaborate.'
'But I already admitted what I did. Is this all really necessary? It can't be legal. Why does my anus hurt?'
'Erm. You're in here for more things than a simple gut punch.'
'Shit.'
'Yes. We'll start from the beginning. Is it true you cried out 'whoops' at the point of ejaculation?'
'There is no fucking way that's a crime.'
He showed me a big book of law. It apparently is, though it was odd that that part was scrawled on and the rest was typed.
'Right. So you admit to it?' He asked.
'Yes. Fine. I did.'
'Interesting.' He made a note on a pad.
'Is it true you were drunk and disorderly around bromley?'
'Well yes. But no one arrested me for it. You can't just retroactively make it a crime.'
He showed me the lawbook. Apparently, they could.
The black man spoke now; 'You also once failed to ejaculate.'
'I do not see how that is a crime.'
He got out the law book. I cried. I didn't believe that one.
'These aren't crimes. These are just things I've done. Who even are you? How do you know all this?'
They pulled out a cabinet. Out of somewhere.
'This is you.'
Shit.
'The peoplepaedia,' the white man announced triumphantly, slamming it against my face.
'You should have bought a table.' I am good at observing things.
'Why did you write this?'
'I'm a dick.'
'I see. ICT coursework.' He punched me in the face.
'We weren't doing very well. I was making a statement.'
'I see. It says here,' he pointed to a page in a file, 'that you once shaved your legs.'
'I was bored. We had a powercut.' I shrugged.
The black man spoke up now. 'That's queer.'
'YOU'RE QUEER.' I was on fire.
He pinched his nose and shook his head.
The white man turned the page of his folder.
'You bought the video game 'Risen,' why?'
'I, erm, I don't know. That was a mistake. It was devestating. I'd rather not talk about it.'
'Fair enough. You have watched Alvin and the Chipmunks? And you enjoyed it?'
I buried my head in my hands and cried softly.
He patted me on the shoulder.
'Okay. Moving on. You burnt your kitchen down?'
'Bacon is complex.'
'Naked in the millenium dome?'
'I was like, what, five? Leave me alone.'
'Checking on your own poo?'
'What?! EVERYBODY DOES THAT. You finish your poo, so you turn around, and you check, to see what it looks like? No? Just me? It can't be just me.'
'I do it,' the black man raised his hand. I made the fist bump sign. He punched me in the knuckle. Too hard.
'Oh. Okay scrap that. You once drank your own urine?'
'You've never had that thought? I was just like, I wonder what it tastes like. It's not very nice. I'd advise against it. It's not nice. Nobody advised me against it. Well they did. But they just said it was unhealthy. But it cures jellyfish? So. You know.'
'Fuck.'
'Fuck indeed. Fuck indeed.'
The white guy shook his head and carried on.
'You um, you ate your own...sperm. You are your own cum.'
'THERE WAS A TISSUE EMERGENCY. I DIDN'T KNOW WHAT TO DO. I DIDN'T HAVE MUCH TIME. I CAN'T HELP IT. NO. LEAVE ME ALONE. GO AWAY. THAT IS UNFAIR. GET OUT MY LIFE.'
'Calm down. Calm down.'
'NO. I'M LEAVING.'
I got up and walked into the wall and fell over.
I lay on the floor and the black man appeared over me.
'Let him go, Charles. Let him go.'
Sunday, 20 June 2010
Another Day.
Yesterday was a very exciting day. Yesterdays are always exciting days. Your troubles always seem so far away. Every yesterday, you have no troubles, and every yesterday led to today. Get me?
Anyway, it was the day before Father's Day yesterday, as indeed, it is Father's Day today. That meant one thing and one thing alone, I had to get stuff for my dad. I woke up at my usual time of two pm. You might see it as late, but it was early enough to do what needed doing. I only do what needs doing. I quickly got dressed into a pair of black tracksuit bottoms and a blue dressing gown. Nobody was watching, so I swirled the dressing gown around like it was some sort of cape. I felt marvellous. I decided it was not appropriate attire to go shopping in, however, so I promptly changed into regular blue jeans and a dark blue T shirt. I scanned my room for any change I could find. I found little, but I hoped what I found would be enough. It was fifteen pounds. I opened the door to my bedroom and swiftly left, sliding the money in my pocket like I was some kind of expert money slider. I am not.
I rushed down the stairs as quickly as possible, not wanting to waste time. Wasting time is for chumps. I barely managed to say goodbye to my family before I opened the front door and departed from our abode like there was a bomb in it. As I got outside I looked around. The houses looked regular, the trees looked regular, the road, looked regular. But something was not right, there was a stillness in the air I could not fathom. I tried to smell the stillness before remembering movement could not be smelt. Especially when that movement was no movement. Still, I knew something bad was going to happen.
Most of my journey had little incident, apart from the occasional quickstep to avoid a youth on a bicycle, I arrived merely by walking. That was a sign of bad things to come. Before I knew it, I was in the Sainsbury's car park. I scanned the area. There were many cars, of different shapes and sizes, and I presume different makes. I don't know much about makes of cars. I couldn't tell just by looking. It was something most other people could do, but I never really picked it up. I had no time for such trivialities. I was on a tight schedule.
I walked carefully down the gravelly road to the slope that led to the entrance. I gripped the rail like my life depended on it and walked up, being sure to take note of all the people I saw coming out. They seemed like typical Orpington people. Most of them were bald. The doors, as expected, opened upon my arrival and I strolled in, taking in the fragrance of the nearby flower section. My Dad would not like flowers, I noted. I also noted the beauty of a single rose. Ah.
I left that place quickly, it felt like a Siren Song, and I did not want to fall into the trap. I wandered to the music section, hoping there would be a CD my Dad would enjoy. I stared at the pop section for mere seconds before I deduced that the inanities of ass faced pop would be suited for him. Are they in a competition to use the most autotune, I wondered. Probably. If that is the case, well done Kanye. You are by far in the lead. I left the music section, as I could not be bothered to work out which old bands my Dad might like.
Suddenly, a thought struck me. Food. Everybody loves food. I'll just get him a helluva lot of food. Nobody can say no to that. Not even a dame. Except a fat dame who's aware she's fat. Unless she's a fat dame who's aware she's fat but doesn't care. Those people make me sick. I went over to the food section and decided chocolate would be the way to go, as long as I avoided gay chocolates about love. That would be awkward. I got there and saw a box of Heroes. The last box of Heroes. Perfect. Heroes aren't gay. But, alas! I also noted a woman, her eyes hungry for Heroes. She had long blonde hair and a dangerous look that said 'Come get me.' I attempted to do so.
'Excuse me doll,' I began, but she had already grabbed the Heroes and ran off. Beauty was forever my nemesis. I had to catch her.
I darted round the aisles, trying to find her. It was a foolish man's pursuit. But where she had beauty, I had brains. I could cut her off at the checkout. I rushed there, avoiding the plethora of shoppers. I stood, waiting patiently for her to arrive. Suddenly, in the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse. I knew it was her. She was radiant. I ran over.
'Hey doll!' I cried, 'Give me the Heroes.'
'What the fuck, who the fuck are you? What the fuck?' Playing hard to get.
'I need them, for my Dad!'
'So? I don't know you? Why did you call me doll?' Ah, she was a questioner. I couldn't give myself away. I remained vague.
'You look like one.' Stellar. Well done Ryan.
'Fuck off, what does that even mean?' More question, stay vague...
'It means your beauty shines with a luminous glow.' Score.
'Oh. Well. You can't have the heroes.' She appeared weakened. I knew what to do to finish this off.
'Also, you have the most genuine look about you that I've ever seen.' As I said this, I punched her in the gut.
'WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?' She cried, but it was too late for her. She had dropped the Heroes. I grabbed them out of the air, and I was about to purchase them when two security guards came running up behind me and grabbed me by each arm.
'You're going down punk,' one said.
My lip quivering, I closed my eyes and wished them away. It failed.
TO BE CONTINUED...
Anyway, it was the day before Father's Day yesterday, as indeed, it is Father's Day today. That meant one thing and one thing alone, I had to get stuff for my dad. I woke up at my usual time of two pm. You might see it as late, but it was early enough to do what needed doing. I only do what needs doing. I quickly got dressed into a pair of black tracksuit bottoms and a blue dressing gown. Nobody was watching, so I swirled the dressing gown around like it was some sort of cape. I felt marvellous. I decided it was not appropriate attire to go shopping in, however, so I promptly changed into regular blue jeans and a dark blue T shirt. I scanned my room for any change I could find. I found little, but I hoped what I found would be enough. It was fifteen pounds. I opened the door to my bedroom and swiftly left, sliding the money in my pocket like I was some kind of expert money slider. I am not.
I rushed down the stairs as quickly as possible, not wanting to waste time. Wasting time is for chumps. I barely managed to say goodbye to my family before I opened the front door and departed from our abode like there was a bomb in it. As I got outside I looked around. The houses looked regular, the trees looked regular, the road, looked regular. But something was not right, there was a stillness in the air I could not fathom. I tried to smell the stillness before remembering movement could not be smelt. Especially when that movement was no movement. Still, I knew something bad was going to happen.
Most of my journey had little incident, apart from the occasional quickstep to avoid a youth on a bicycle, I arrived merely by walking. That was a sign of bad things to come. Before I knew it, I was in the Sainsbury's car park. I scanned the area. There were many cars, of different shapes and sizes, and I presume different makes. I don't know much about makes of cars. I couldn't tell just by looking. It was something most other people could do, but I never really picked it up. I had no time for such trivialities. I was on a tight schedule.
I walked carefully down the gravelly road to the slope that led to the entrance. I gripped the rail like my life depended on it and walked up, being sure to take note of all the people I saw coming out. They seemed like typical Orpington people. Most of them were bald. The doors, as expected, opened upon my arrival and I strolled in, taking in the fragrance of the nearby flower section. My Dad would not like flowers, I noted. I also noted the beauty of a single rose. Ah.
I left that place quickly, it felt like a Siren Song, and I did not want to fall into the trap. I wandered to the music section, hoping there would be a CD my Dad would enjoy. I stared at the pop section for mere seconds before I deduced that the inanities of ass faced pop would be suited for him. Are they in a competition to use the most autotune, I wondered. Probably. If that is the case, well done Kanye. You are by far in the lead. I left the music section, as I could not be bothered to work out which old bands my Dad might like.
Suddenly, a thought struck me. Food. Everybody loves food. I'll just get him a helluva lot of food. Nobody can say no to that. Not even a dame. Except a fat dame who's aware she's fat. Unless she's a fat dame who's aware she's fat but doesn't care. Those people make me sick. I went over to the food section and decided chocolate would be the way to go, as long as I avoided gay chocolates about love. That would be awkward. I got there and saw a box of Heroes. The last box of Heroes. Perfect. Heroes aren't gay. But, alas! I also noted a woman, her eyes hungry for Heroes. She had long blonde hair and a dangerous look that said 'Come get me.' I attempted to do so.
'Excuse me doll,' I began, but she had already grabbed the Heroes and ran off. Beauty was forever my nemesis. I had to catch her.
I darted round the aisles, trying to find her. It was a foolish man's pursuit. But where she had beauty, I had brains. I could cut her off at the checkout. I rushed there, avoiding the plethora of shoppers. I stood, waiting patiently for her to arrive. Suddenly, in the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse. I knew it was her. She was radiant. I ran over.
'Hey doll!' I cried, 'Give me the Heroes.'
'What the fuck, who the fuck are you? What the fuck?' Playing hard to get.
'I need them, for my Dad!'
'So? I don't know you? Why did you call me doll?' Ah, she was a questioner. I couldn't give myself away. I remained vague.
'You look like one.' Stellar. Well done Ryan.
'Fuck off, what does that even mean?' More question, stay vague...
'It means your beauty shines with a luminous glow.' Score.
'Oh. Well. You can't have the heroes.' She appeared weakened. I knew what to do to finish this off.
'Also, you have the most genuine look about you that I've ever seen.' As I said this, I punched her in the gut.
'WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?' She cried, but it was too late for her. She had dropped the Heroes. I grabbed them out of the air, and I was about to purchase them when two security guards came running up behind me and grabbed me by each arm.
'You're going down punk,' one said.
My lip quivering, I closed my eyes and wished them away. It failed.
TO BE CONTINUED...
Friday, 18 June 2010
England Football
I actually watched the match of Algeria Vs. England, and it excited me greatly. What I don't understand is the amount of angry facebook statuses!
Now, I don't pretend to be an expert in football, but apart from one or two mistakes, England did exactly what they wanted to do. I am an expert in reading lips, and so I have decided to place a few transcripts as to what England were saying when they did what they did. Oh and yeah, I don't know their names.
PRE-GAME:
Manager Man: Remember to shoot.
Team: Yeah sure we get that, it's football.
Striker Ogre: Are you sure? Are you sure? I don't want to. I'm not going to.
Manager Man: Whatever floats your boat.
Other Striker: Can I fall over?
Manager Man: No.
START GAME:
Midfield Dude: I think we should focus on passing the ball backwards. Like, all the time.
Midfield Guy: Personally, I think that is one stellar idea. Brilliant.
Midfield Man: I agree.
Striker Ogre: Look, Midfield, I know I said I wasn't going to shoot but I would still like the ball.
Other Striker: Don't give me the ball, it apparently makes my legs wobbly.
Goal Person: I can kick it the furthest. Always pass it to me. That helps. Kicking it far at random intervals, it helps.
Defender: Good point. It is a Goal Person magic power to be able to kick far further than we mere defenders can.
Angry Defender: Snarl!
Other Defender: I wish I was a goal ninja. But my hands, they are weak.
MORE GAME:
Striker Ogre: I don't think my strategy of not shooting is working, help!
Other Striker (from the floor): Shit.
Striker Ogre: Okay, okay I'll shoot. *Shoots.* Fuck, that was like, what, 10 metres away?
Other Striker (Falling over): Shit.
Midfield Dude: Who passed it forwards?
Midfield Man: I did, but I did it slowly.
Midfield Guy: Ah. Maybe slower in future.
Midfield Man: Yes.
Goal Person: Kicking things far is the way to succeed.
Defender: Stop rubbing it in.
Angry Defender: I can kick Algerians. Football is an excuse for my hate crimes.
Other Defender: Whoah.
Goal Person: Just kick them far.
NEARING HALF TIME:
Striker Ogre: I just realised what my face looks like. I don't want to do anything anymore.
Other Striker (From Floor): I'm Black. Why can't I run.
Striker Ogre: I think falling over is the way to go. *Collapses.*
Midfield Guy: Ha. Did you see what I totes just did?
Midfield Man: You totes just passed to the other team!
Midfield Dude: Totes, dude that was spesh.
Midfield Person: No, that was shocking. That was utterly shocking. That is not what we want to do. Not at all. Seriously, this whole match. It's just, what the fuck. Seriously guys, what the fuck. This isn't football. This is completely awful.
Midfield Dude: Dude, they totes just all ran past you.
Midfield Person: Fuck.
HALF TIME TALK:
Manager Man: What the shit. Score. Do that.
Quiet Defender: Yeah...
Angry Defender: No. Hit them.
Striker Ogre: I think all mirrors in the world should go away.
Midfield Guy: I swear I'm not even a midfielder.
Goal Person: You're all kicking it like it's a baby. Kick it like it's a toddler.
Manager Man: Listen to him.
AFTER HALF TIME:
Other Striker (In thoughts): Shit. What colour are we? Are we green or white. I don't recognise anyone. If I look down, people will think I'm silly. Fuck. *Passes to Green*
Striker Ogre: Dude.
Other Striker: *Collapses* Golly.
Midfield Person: Fuck it. This is all fucking awful. Ah, ref, ref, the Algerian hit me!
Referee: Is england mentally stable.
Midfield Person: No, no it is not.
Defender: I'm not even sure where Algeria is.
Goal Person: Spain.
Defender: Okay.
Angry Defender: They're all Ronaldo! Fuck!
Goal Person: ...
NEARING THE END:
Manager Man (Grabbing Player): Score. Fucking score or so Help me God I am going to shoot you right in your fucking face.
Player: Can we not just all pretend to be fouled whenever an Algerian comes near us? Are they Algerian? Or is it like, Algeriaish. Or, Algeriench. Or, Algeramerican.
Manager Man: Oh my fuck.
Striker Ogre: Okay, I'm on the halfway line. Perfect time for a shot.
Other Striker: I managed to masturbate.
Striker Ogre: That is just. That is wrong. You are sick. Thinking about stuff like that makes me ill. I used to do that to myself. *shudders*
Angry Defender: Ha. I totally just roared in that guy's face.
Goal Person: Did not help.
Defender: Shit, we've had some substitutions.
TALL GUY ENTERS STAGE.
Tall Guy: I'm just gonna mosey on over here. Sit on the sidelines. I'm not gonna do much. Just relaxing. Yanoe, a little bit of chillaxing. Some er, B-Ball.
Striker Ogre: We are fucking playing football.
Tall Guy: Oh really, couldn't tell. OOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHH.
Striker Ogre: Everything about me is just awful. I am the worst.
NEARING NEARER TO THE END:
Midfield Person: What's the time?
Midfield Guy: We got like 3 minutes left.
Midfield Dude: I have a plan.
-30 seconds later-
Midfield Dude: Okay, now all of our strikers are in the box and I'm right on the edge with a perfect chance to kick it in. I'm going to kick it to that green guy. That'll fuck them up. *Does so.*
Midfield Person: That was so close to genius.
Midfield Man: You're right. It wasn't genius.
Midfield Guy: It was Super Genius.
Angry Defender: I totally just flipped that guy off.
Defender: Ohhh!
Goal Person: I kicked the ball far.
Defender: It's not funny anymore.
Angry Defender: It never was. Rape is the one funny thing on this planet.
Quiet Defender: Shit.
Angry Defender: Snarl.
THE END:
Striker Ogre: Well at least we didn't lose.
Tall Guy: Your face.
Striker Ogre: Oh everything's awful. Look at these fans. Booing. They're so shit. We're not shit. It wasn't a great result. It wasn't a great game. But why are they booing us? For being ugly? How disgusting.
Angry Defender: I am going to put knives through all their hearts.
Quiet Defender: Meep.
Midfield Person: Maybe it's because you are all fucking insane. I'm not even sure why I'm here. Fuck, I swear I was subbed off.
Midfield Guy: We're all interchangeable.
Midfield Dude: Except goal person. He has magic hands.
Goal Person: Just view the ball like it's a small and irritating girl. Like it wants to be kicked. Like god wants it to be killed. Just like he likes it when small chinese girls are killed.
Midfield Person: You are all fucked up. What the fuck.
Manager Man: That was shocking. I hate you all. You have cost me my job. Probably. Everyone will blame me and Rob Green even though we did shit all wrong. I like my glasses. They make me look sexy.
Other Striker (On floor): I've forgotten how to get up!
Defender: Well at least the defence did alright.
Goal Person: No. We did not kill the ball enough.
Angry Defender: I like you Goal Person.
Tall Guy: I swear like, 12 of us are discussing like we were on the pitch.
Midfield Person: No, I was subbed off for you.
Manager Man: Go back to the hotel. I assure you I did not plant 15 mafia members there.
-FIN-
So, as you can tell, England are perfectly good at what they do. And what they do is football.
Now, I don't pretend to be an expert in football, but apart from one or two mistakes, England did exactly what they wanted to do. I am an expert in reading lips, and so I have decided to place a few transcripts as to what England were saying when they did what they did. Oh and yeah, I don't know their names.
PRE-GAME:
Manager Man: Remember to shoot.
Team: Yeah sure we get that, it's football.
Striker Ogre: Are you sure? Are you sure? I don't want to. I'm not going to.
Manager Man: Whatever floats your boat.
Other Striker: Can I fall over?
Manager Man: No.
START GAME:
Midfield Dude: I think we should focus on passing the ball backwards. Like, all the time.
Midfield Guy: Personally, I think that is one stellar idea. Brilliant.
Midfield Man: I agree.
Striker Ogre: Look, Midfield, I know I said I wasn't going to shoot but I would still like the ball.
Other Striker: Don't give me the ball, it apparently makes my legs wobbly.
Goal Person: I can kick it the furthest. Always pass it to me. That helps. Kicking it far at random intervals, it helps.
Defender: Good point. It is a Goal Person magic power to be able to kick far further than we mere defenders can.
Angry Defender: Snarl!
Other Defender: I wish I was a goal ninja. But my hands, they are weak.
MORE GAME:
Striker Ogre: I don't think my strategy of not shooting is working, help!
Other Striker (from the floor): Shit.
Striker Ogre: Okay, okay I'll shoot. *Shoots.* Fuck, that was like, what, 10 metres away?
Other Striker (Falling over): Shit.
Midfield Dude: Who passed it forwards?
Midfield Man: I did, but I did it slowly.
Midfield Guy: Ah. Maybe slower in future.
Midfield Man: Yes.
Goal Person: Kicking things far is the way to succeed.
Defender: Stop rubbing it in.
Angry Defender: I can kick Algerians. Football is an excuse for my hate crimes.
Other Defender: Whoah.
Goal Person: Just kick them far.
NEARING HALF TIME:
Striker Ogre: I just realised what my face looks like. I don't want to do anything anymore.
Other Striker (From Floor): I'm Black. Why can't I run.
Striker Ogre: I think falling over is the way to go. *Collapses.*
Midfield Guy: Ha. Did you see what I totes just did?
Midfield Man: You totes just passed to the other team!
Midfield Dude: Totes, dude that was spesh.
Midfield Person: No, that was shocking. That was utterly shocking. That is not what we want to do. Not at all. Seriously, this whole match. It's just, what the fuck. Seriously guys, what the fuck. This isn't football. This is completely awful.
Midfield Dude: Dude, they totes just all ran past you.
Midfield Person: Fuck.
HALF TIME TALK:
Manager Man: What the shit. Score. Do that.
Quiet Defender: Yeah...
Angry Defender: No. Hit them.
Striker Ogre: I think all mirrors in the world should go away.
Midfield Guy: I swear I'm not even a midfielder.
Goal Person: You're all kicking it like it's a baby. Kick it like it's a toddler.
Manager Man: Listen to him.
AFTER HALF TIME:
Other Striker (In thoughts): Shit. What colour are we? Are we green or white. I don't recognise anyone. If I look down, people will think I'm silly. Fuck. *Passes to Green*
Striker Ogre: Dude.
Other Striker: *Collapses* Golly.
Midfield Person: Fuck it. This is all fucking awful. Ah, ref, ref, the Algerian hit me!
Referee: Is england mentally stable.
Midfield Person: No, no it is not.
Defender: I'm not even sure where Algeria is.
Goal Person: Spain.
Defender: Okay.
Angry Defender: They're all Ronaldo! Fuck!
Goal Person: ...
NEARING THE END:
Manager Man (Grabbing Player): Score. Fucking score or so Help me God I am going to shoot you right in your fucking face.
Player: Can we not just all pretend to be fouled whenever an Algerian comes near us? Are they Algerian? Or is it like, Algeriaish. Or, Algeriench. Or, Algeramerican.
Manager Man: Oh my fuck.
Striker Ogre: Okay, I'm on the halfway line. Perfect time for a shot.
Other Striker: I managed to masturbate.
Striker Ogre: That is just. That is wrong. You are sick. Thinking about stuff like that makes me ill. I used to do that to myself. *shudders*
Angry Defender: Ha. I totally just roared in that guy's face.
Goal Person: Did not help.
Defender: Shit, we've had some substitutions.
TALL GUY ENTERS STAGE.
Tall Guy: I'm just gonna mosey on over here. Sit on the sidelines. I'm not gonna do much. Just relaxing. Yanoe, a little bit of chillaxing. Some er, B-Ball.
Striker Ogre: We are fucking playing football.
Tall Guy: Oh really, couldn't tell. OOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHH.
Striker Ogre: Everything about me is just awful. I am the worst.
NEARING NEARER TO THE END:
Midfield Person: What's the time?
Midfield Guy: We got like 3 minutes left.
Midfield Dude: I have a plan.
-30 seconds later-
Midfield Dude: Okay, now all of our strikers are in the box and I'm right on the edge with a perfect chance to kick it in. I'm going to kick it to that green guy. That'll fuck them up. *Does so.*
Midfield Person: That was so close to genius.
Midfield Man: You're right. It wasn't genius.
Midfield Guy: It was Super Genius.
Angry Defender: I totally just flipped that guy off.
Defender: Ohhh!
Goal Person: I kicked the ball far.
Defender: It's not funny anymore.
Angry Defender: It never was. Rape is the one funny thing on this planet.
Quiet Defender: Shit.
Angry Defender: Snarl.
THE END:
Striker Ogre: Well at least we didn't lose.
Tall Guy: Your face.
Striker Ogre: Oh everything's awful. Look at these fans. Booing. They're so shit. We're not shit. It wasn't a great result. It wasn't a great game. But why are they booing us? For being ugly? How disgusting.
Angry Defender: I am going to put knives through all their hearts.
Quiet Defender: Meep.
Midfield Person: Maybe it's because you are all fucking insane. I'm not even sure why I'm here. Fuck, I swear I was subbed off.
Midfield Guy: We're all interchangeable.
Midfield Dude: Except goal person. He has magic hands.
Goal Person: Just view the ball like it's a small and irritating girl. Like it wants to be kicked. Like god wants it to be killed. Just like he likes it when small chinese girls are killed.
Midfield Person: You are all fucked up. What the fuck.
Manager Man: That was shocking. I hate you all. You have cost me my job. Probably. Everyone will blame me and Rob Green even though we did shit all wrong. I like my glasses. They make me look sexy.
Other Striker (On floor): I've forgotten how to get up!
Defender: Well at least the defence did alright.
Goal Person: No. We did not kill the ball enough.
Angry Defender: I like you Goal Person.
Tall Guy: I swear like, 12 of us are discussing like we were on the pitch.
Midfield Person: No, I was subbed off for you.
Manager Man: Go back to the hotel. I assure you I did not plant 15 mafia members there.
-FIN-
So, as you can tell, England are perfectly good at what they do. And what they do is football.
Monday, 14 June 2010
Inarticulate Dictionaries
You may notice shortly after reading the title of this blog, that it makes no sense. This is because I decided to read other blogs; and I got the impression I was missing the point! Most of them are random, irrelevant titles with stories about their day or their views on life. They're all much more serious.
I however, am writing stories about awful superheroes and giving you actually something you might want to read. Not to sound rude/arrogant, but 'I had an english exam today and it was hard,' is hardly something I particularly will ever care about ever in my life ever unless you ever make it interesting which you won't, ever.
Saying all that, I have made the decision that this blog will be a bit more serious. I was trolling through the depths of the internet and I came across a site named 'Dear Cupid.' This is where the most sexually retarded people go to tell the world that they are having issues. I decided then, that I would make it my duty to help some of these people. I will embolden the questions and keep my answers in this regular font in order to make it clear what's going on.
Lets dive right in, shall we?
Hi, im 19 years old, i tend to finger myself when im arroused, in the morning i felt the need to finger myself, and so i did and also in the shower,couple of hours later i wanted to finger myself but it hurts? why is this? what am i doing wrong? i make sure i cut my nails and my fingers are clean, so why does it hurt??
I'm not a girl, but to me the answer to this question is quite simple. You are clearly obese, and as a result have troll fingers. These fingers are so large that they can't avoid the fat flaps defending your vagina, and as such, after all this compulsive masturbation you have done, you end up getting a rash. It is possible however, that the pain you are feeling is inside the vagina, in which case you are being too psycho aggressive. Relax, take a breath, lose some weight, and then try again. With your skinnier fingers, harder poking and prodding will not be as dangerous. Thank you for your comment.
This kind of an eternal question!!!!! I am a 21 year old guy about to finish college!!! My only problem is I find it very difficult to start conversation with women. I have many female friends and have no problem in talkin to them!!!! But if i see a girl i like somewhere i find it very hard to start a conversation!! So please Agony Aunts help in getting over my fear!!! Tell me how to approach a women so that she will like or wat does a woman look for in a guy for the first time to take things further!!!!!!
Well, lamdunk662003, you came to the right Agony Aunt in trying to solve your issue here!! It is quite clear to me that you have many issues which all culminate in this one woman related issue!!!! Firstly, you can't speak English very well, so you should probably learn how to form sentences!!!!!!!!! Secondly, you seem too enthusiastic, and I don't think women like it when you shout in their face!!!!! Thirdly, what the fuck. How movie cliché do you want to be? Perhaps if you lost the college jacket and gained some unscripted personality you wouldn't become a blubbering wreck around girls you 'like.' How do you even know you like them if you can't talk to them? They might be harpies. SQUEE might be the only word they're able to pronounce. Yay!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Hi! I am saggitarius girl. My boyfriend is aries. He is too strange. Sometimes he is warm and deep, and he says he loves me, sometimes he doesn't text me and says he is busy.He plays some mental games with me. I don't know whether he cheats me. Is there anyone who knows saggitarius-aries couple? IS HIS BEHAVIOUR NORMAL? SHOULD I TREAT it normal, without being upset? Maybe it is typical aries men? Or should i break up with him?
Well anonymous, to me it seems like you're the person in the wrong in this relationship. I would absolutely love to go out with someone who was willing to play some mental and crazy games with me! What sort of games do you play? Perhaps if you specified, the root of the problem would become more apparent. If it is scrabble or monopoly or boggle, I doubt he is cheating on them, it would be quite easy to tell! You also point out that he has mood swings. You yourself randomly burst into capts lock in one sentence and only managed to continue it halfway into the next sentence. Perhaps you're the one with mood swings, and he reacts accordingly? Otherwise, it is very possible he is in fact busy. Finally, believing in astrology makes you a dickwallop shitstorm of failed genetic filth pooling up in a pit of despair, and I hope you learn that the world isn't divided into 12 groups of people. I'm glad I could help, you nutter fuck.
I don't want to get into detail but my ex left me because my penis was apparently too small for her, and I guess she told her friends because now it's gotten out I have a small penis...a lot of girls ridicule me for it and after a while it's really hurtful. My penis is about 4 inches long and 4 inches girth when erect...so yeah, it's small...and thin in case you were wondering (Note, No I was not wondering.) Not to mention it curves upwards a bit also. So not only is it small but it looks weird also.
This question ironically goes on into much more detail, so I shall paraphrase it: 'Is it okay to have a small penis, do girls like small penises, maybe if I swung it about fancily girls would like it, is that true, when girls say size doesn't matter are they bullshitting whores?'
Firstly, AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHA! Oh outstanding. Well, the last sentence of your question is 'Be honest, don't say stuff to make me feel better...' so I guess I'm going to be honest. The curving upwards is perfectly natural, so don't worry about that unless it's 90 degrees, which knowing your luck...it probably is. Now to answer the rest of your questions: A) No it is not okay to have a small penis, below five is very much laughable and far smaller than the depth of the vagina. B) Girls do not like small penises, this is common knowledge, your poor underendowed moron. C) Yes, to a certain extent, pretending your penis is a party trick does impress girls, and being good at sex helps also but 4 inches? THE FUCK MAN. D) Yes, they are lying to make you feel better and are quickly trying to think of a reason as to why you should strap on a dildo. (I take it you will have heard such stellar lines as 'it's different,' or probably more to the point, 'I need to fucking leave.')
While I do feel sorry for you, I also find your plight wonderfully hilarious. Glad I could help.
Is it wrong trying to court someone else's wife?
Yes.
im 14 im a guy ok my step cousin is 12 almost 13 a girl i feel weird when we are alone but i dont know what to do. 2 years ago we almost had sex because we were alone in my room. we were humping eachother but had clothes on. we also kissed 4 a bit then we almost went a step further but being the oldest i ended it. now when i go 2 c her i have no idea what to say. but when we r with other people im fine. should i talk to her about it?
There are two major issues here. No, wait, three. Firstly, you feel the need to have sex with people 'because you are alone in your room?' Have you almost experienced maternal copulation? Have you ever almost fucked your dad because he came up to ask you how football went or something? You are filthy. Secondly, SHE WAS FUCKING TEN? How south american do you want to be! That's so weird, that's so fucking not right. You are a deranged and disgusting person, no matter how much you try to save it with 'but I ended it.' There should have been nothing to end you freak. What the shit! You shouldn't talk to her about it! You should leave and exile yourself to a place where nobody goes! Finally, how has it taken you two years to realise this was quite a silly thing to do? And by quite, I mean very. And by silly, I mean disturbing. You are beyond help. I do not know why you asked. Nobody can help you, you filthy shit.
Well, that was fucking tough. I tried to be serious, I tried to help these people. I really really did. But wow, is the world a fucked up place. I'm sticking to stories about imaginary characters and tales of any interesting days I may have. Sorry, I tried, I really did.
Farewell.
I however, am writing stories about awful superheroes and giving you actually something you might want to read. Not to sound rude/arrogant, but 'I had an english exam today and it was hard,' is hardly something I particularly will ever care about ever in my life ever unless you ever make it interesting which you won't, ever.
Saying all that, I have made the decision that this blog will be a bit more serious. I was trolling through the depths of the internet and I came across a site named 'Dear Cupid.' This is where the most sexually retarded people go to tell the world that they are having issues. I decided then, that I would make it my duty to help some of these people. I will embolden the questions and keep my answers in this regular font in order to make it clear what's going on.
Lets dive right in, shall we?
Hi, im 19 years old, i tend to finger myself when im arroused, in the morning i felt the need to finger myself, and so i did and also in the shower,couple of hours later i wanted to finger myself but it hurts? why is this? what am i doing wrong? i make sure i cut my nails and my fingers are clean, so why does it hurt??
I'm not a girl, but to me the answer to this question is quite simple. You are clearly obese, and as a result have troll fingers. These fingers are so large that they can't avoid the fat flaps defending your vagina, and as such, after all this compulsive masturbation you have done, you end up getting a rash. It is possible however, that the pain you are feeling is inside the vagina, in which case you are being too psycho aggressive. Relax, take a breath, lose some weight, and then try again. With your skinnier fingers, harder poking and prodding will not be as dangerous. Thank you for your comment.
This kind of an eternal question!!!!! I am a 21 year old guy about to finish college!!! My only problem is I find it very difficult to start conversation with women. I have many female friends and have no problem in talkin to them!!!! But if i see a girl i like somewhere i find it very hard to start a conversation!! So please Agony Aunts help in getting over my fear!!! Tell me how to approach a women so that she will like or wat does a woman look for in a guy for the first time to take things further!!!!!!
Well, lamdunk662003, you came to the right Agony Aunt in trying to solve your issue here!! It is quite clear to me that you have many issues which all culminate in this one woman related issue!!!! Firstly, you can't speak English very well, so you should probably learn how to form sentences!!!!!!!!! Secondly, you seem too enthusiastic, and I don't think women like it when you shout in their face!!!!! Thirdly, what the fuck. How movie cliché do you want to be? Perhaps if you lost the college jacket and gained some unscripted personality you wouldn't become a blubbering wreck around girls you 'like.' How do you even know you like them if you can't talk to them? They might be harpies. SQUEE might be the only word they're able to pronounce. Yay!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Hi! I am saggitarius girl. My boyfriend is aries. He is too strange. Sometimes he is warm and deep, and he says he loves me, sometimes he doesn't text me and says he is busy.He plays some mental games with me. I don't know whether he cheats me. Is there anyone who knows saggitarius-aries couple? IS HIS BEHAVIOUR NORMAL? SHOULD I TREAT it normal, without being upset? Maybe it is typical aries men? Or should i break up with him?
Well anonymous, to me it seems like you're the person in the wrong in this relationship. I would absolutely love to go out with someone who was willing to play some mental and crazy games with me! What sort of games do you play? Perhaps if you specified, the root of the problem would become more apparent. If it is scrabble or monopoly or boggle, I doubt he is cheating on them, it would be quite easy to tell! You also point out that he has mood swings. You yourself randomly burst into capts lock in one sentence and only managed to continue it halfway into the next sentence. Perhaps you're the one with mood swings, and he reacts accordingly? Otherwise, it is very possible he is in fact busy. Finally, believing in astrology makes you a dickwallop shitstorm of failed genetic filth pooling up in a pit of despair, and I hope you learn that the world isn't divided into 12 groups of people. I'm glad I could help, you nutter fuck.
I don't want to get into detail but my ex left me because my penis was apparently too small for her, and I guess she told her friends because now it's gotten out I have a small penis...a lot of girls ridicule me for it and after a while it's really hurtful. My penis is about 4 inches long and 4 inches girth when erect...so yeah, it's small...and thin in case you were wondering (Note, No I was not wondering.) Not to mention it curves upwards a bit also. So not only is it small but it looks weird also.
This question ironically goes on into much more detail, so I shall paraphrase it: 'Is it okay to have a small penis, do girls like small penises, maybe if I swung it about fancily girls would like it, is that true, when girls say size doesn't matter are they bullshitting whores?'
Firstly, AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHA! Oh outstanding. Well, the last sentence of your question is 'Be honest, don't say stuff to make me feel better...' so I guess I'm going to be honest. The curving upwards is perfectly natural, so don't worry about that unless it's 90 degrees, which knowing your luck...it probably is. Now to answer the rest of your questions: A) No it is not okay to have a small penis, below five is very much laughable and far smaller than the depth of the vagina. B) Girls do not like small penises, this is common knowledge, your poor underendowed moron. C) Yes, to a certain extent, pretending your penis is a party trick does impress girls, and being good at sex helps also but 4 inches? THE FUCK MAN. D) Yes, they are lying to make you feel better and are quickly trying to think of a reason as to why you should strap on a dildo. (I take it you will have heard such stellar lines as 'it's different,' or probably more to the point, 'I need to fucking leave.')
While I do feel sorry for you, I also find your plight wonderfully hilarious. Glad I could help.
Is it wrong trying to court someone else's wife?
Yes.
im 14 im a guy ok my step cousin is 12 almost 13 a girl i feel weird when we are alone but i dont know what to do. 2 years ago we almost had sex because we were alone in my room. we were humping eachother but had clothes on. we also kissed 4 a bit then we almost went a step further but being the oldest i ended it. now when i go 2 c her i have no idea what to say. but when we r with other people im fine. should i talk to her about it?
There are two major issues here. No, wait, three. Firstly, you feel the need to have sex with people 'because you are alone in your room?' Have you almost experienced maternal copulation? Have you ever almost fucked your dad because he came up to ask you how football went or something? You are filthy. Secondly, SHE WAS FUCKING TEN? How south american do you want to be! That's so weird, that's so fucking not right. You are a deranged and disgusting person, no matter how much you try to save it with 'but I ended it.' There should have been nothing to end you freak. What the shit! You shouldn't talk to her about it! You should leave and exile yourself to a place where nobody goes! Finally, how has it taken you two years to realise this was quite a silly thing to do? And by quite, I mean very. And by silly, I mean disturbing. You are beyond help. I do not know why you asked. Nobody can help you, you filthy shit.
Well, that was fucking tough. I tried to be serious, I tried to help these people. I really really did. But wow, is the world a fucked up place. I'm sticking to stories about imaginary characters and tales of any interesting days I may have. Sorry, I tried, I really did.
Farewell.
Friday, 11 June 2010
Intoxicated Fred
I've recently discovered I have a boring life. Not much goes on, except things break. For instance I recently kicked my mirror, and in Charlotte's words, it was a 'fucking pussy' and it broke on me! Twat. I hid the pieces under my bed. But that's not enough for a blog, that's not enough to entertain you, faithful readers.
But, it so happens, I have friends who lead lives that are worth living. For example...
Well I guess...
Um...
Well anyway, here's me telling you the story of my friend Intoxicated Fred (His name, not mine) which I have managed to collect together from various diary extracts and interviews with members of his family. God rest his soul. Well not God. Darwin. That's who atheists worship. Darwin rest his soul.
Intoxicated Fred led a regular life up until he was fifteen. He went to school, he had a family, he had problems with girls. Icky girls. Ew.
Anyway, like I said. This all changed when Fred was fifteen. Here's a quote from his diary: 'I could do shit nobody else could do. I was the man. I was...super.'
That is right. Fred had discovered he had superpowers. He had the ability to completely get wasted without the aid of alcohol. He discovered it: 'When I had run out of drugs so I just tried to get high by sheer force of will. I got drunk instead. Awesome.'
Fred went out onto the streets to try his luck at the superhero game. He 'saw a mugging so fucking brutal that...well it was a mugging. That's brutal enough. Leave me alone.'
He courageously stepped up to the mugger and called out 'Stop!' The mugger looked at Fred like he was some kinda jackass.
'Are you some kinda jackass?' He asked, to keep up narrative consistency.
'Ahahahaaahahaahahahaa, no! I am...I am...I am Intoxicated Fred.' Fred replied in a grand voice.
'The fuck?' The mugger threw down the woman he was beating and turned to Fred.
Fred got scared. But fear, fear does not come to those who are wasted. He focussed, and got himself fucking pissed.
'You go away...or I'll go away!' He said without much thought as to what he was saying or thinking.
'Are you...are you drunk? You weren't before? Why do you smell of alcohol?' The mugger was confused. Fred's first attempt at heroism was working.
It all went downhill from there, Fred went to punch the mugger but accidentally punched a wall because, as the diary explains: 'People always expect you to punch them. If you punch other things, they'll get confused. I punched the wall to confuse him.'
This caused Fred to have a pained hand, and he drew it back, bloody, and tripped, smacking his head into the wall and rendering himself unconcsious.
'The lights were bright. I thought I was dead. I wasn't dead.'
Fred was now in a hospital, he had just woken up from his short term coma, whatever that's called.
'We did a breathaliser test,' a doctor said to him, 'you got a fucking fifty. What the fuck did you have and how are you not dead?!'
'I didn't have anything. I'm just a hero.'
'What?'
'I'm...nevermind. I'm fine, can I go?'
'Yeah, sure, but someone left you a note.'
The doctor passed the note to Fred and left.
It read as follows: 'Fred, your destiny is near. I am not a paedophile. Come meet me at 55, The Road.'
'There's a road called 'The Road'?' Fred asked, using an irritating amount of speech marks.
He got up, and headed towards his destiny.
'Fred!' The door opened before Fred even managed to knock. 'Come in, come in. We have many things to talk about.'
Fred entered the house of the old bearded man, and began to doubt the note. He probably was a paedophile. The photos of naked children on the walls didn't help.
'You have a great power, Fred. You are the chosen one.'
'All I can do is get drunk.'
'Yes! Yes precisely! Show me how it works?' The man's eyes glinted lustfully.
'No.'
'Oh oh, of course. The time will come when the world will depend on you, young Fred. You must fight the storm. The darkness. The despair. The hopelessness. You must combat the void.'
'Okay. Can I go now?'
'No! You need this.'
The old man handed Fred a photo.
'That's me as a child. I was developed, as you can see. I still am, if you want to see.'
Fred's diary here trails off and there are some small satanic symbols at the bottom. I've travelled around the world to decipher it and the top minds in the world all think it means: 'He made me do it. I didn't do it. Father, forgive me.'
What. A. Homo.
Fred decided that his destiny could wait at the doorstep to the house of his life for a while, and decided he was going to go up to Sexy Hannah and ask her the shit out.
'Hey Hannah!' He said, running over to her.
'Hey Fred...' Hannah said, disappointed. Fred was not an attractive child. He had a black afro thing and often an unshaven beard. Eurgh.
Fred lost confidence at this, so he decided to boost it.
'Hey Hannah, you slutty bitch sex fiend, go out with me,' Fred said, attempting to sound commanding but coming off as a bit of a dick.
'Sure!' Hannah said. Girls are idiots. The diary here says 'I was totally in there. I just needed to keep getting in there. If you catch my drift. Hardcore fucking. Hardcore fucking.' I assume he said it twice to make it a double entendre, but I can't be sure.
Sadly, the next part of the diary tells a very trajik tale. Fred apparently turned up his levels of drunkenness more, and straight up emptied himself all over her. I wish I meant vomit. The diary explains it more than I want to: 'I thought it would be a good idea to punch her to the ground, then sit on her face and shit. It wasn't a good idea.'
Hannah apparently decided to cancel her acceptance of Fred's proposal, and that was that.
There's a lot of boring mess here, in which Fred gets up to other miscellaneous hijinks while drunk, and they're all very hilarious and catastrophic. But then, destiny got up off the doorstep and knocked on Fred's door.
'Hello Fred,' said the stranger, letting himself into Fred's house.
'Who are you?' Fred said.
'I am The Void. Like you, I was granted powers. And I shall end you. You shall not stop me.'
'What can you do?' Fred asked earnestly.
'I control darkness.' The Void replied.
'You turn off lights? I can do that?' Fred said, confused.
'No, as in. Just watch.'
The Void snapped his fingers and a black hole appeared.
'The fuck, hehehehehee.' Fred giggled. He had taken this oppurtunity to get fucking drunk.
'What? It's a tiny black hole. Why aren't you being killed?'
'It's my destiny to defeat you,' Fred said slowly, making sure not to slur any of his words. He slurred them all.
Fred charged up to The Void and straight up punched him in the throat.
'Shit!' Cried the Void. He expanded the black hole. To no avail.
Fred wretched his insides all over The Void, and proceeded to punch him again.
'Fuck!' The Void yelled. Pissed.
The diary here reads: 'I don't know why I've stopped punching The Void. I felt kind of mean. I probably shouldn't be writing in here, I am close to being killed by a maniac.'
From what I can gather from what the neighbours heard, and the corpse of Fred with a bullet wound in his face, The Void gave up trying to kill Intoxicated Fred with a black hole and instead just shot him in the face.
I don't know what's happened to The Void, if indeed he is still alive. We are all in trouble. The last pillar of hope is dead.
Good luck.
But, it so happens, I have friends who lead lives that are worth living. For example...
Well I guess...
Um...
Well anyway, here's me telling you the story of my friend Intoxicated Fred (His name, not mine) which I have managed to collect together from various diary extracts and interviews with members of his family. God rest his soul. Well not God. Darwin. That's who atheists worship. Darwin rest his soul.
Intoxicated Fred led a regular life up until he was fifteen. He went to school, he had a family, he had problems with girls. Icky girls. Ew.
Anyway, like I said. This all changed when Fred was fifteen. Here's a quote from his diary: 'I could do shit nobody else could do. I was the man. I was...super.'
That is right. Fred had discovered he had superpowers. He had the ability to completely get wasted without the aid of alcohol. He discovered it: 'When I had run out of drugs so I just tried to get high by sheer force of will. I got drunk instead. Awesome.'
Fred went out onto the streets to try his luck at the superhero game. He 'saw a mugging so fucking brutal that...well it was a mugging. That's brutal enough. Leave me alone.'
He courageously stepped up to the mugger and called out 'Stop!' The mugger looked at Fred like he was some kinda jackass.
'Are you some kinda jackass?' He asked, to keep up narrative consistency.
'Ahahahaaahahaahahahaa, no! I am...I am...I am Intoxicated Fred.' Fred replied in a grand voice.
'The fuck?' The mugger threw down the woman he was beating and turned to Fred.
Fred got scared. But fear, fear does not come to those who are wasted. He focussed, and got himself fucking pissed.
'You go away...or I'll go away!' He said without much thought as to what he was saying or thinking.
'Are you...are you drunk? You weren't before? Why do you smell of alcohol?' The mugger was confused. Fred's first attempt at heroism was working.
It all went downhill from there, Fred went to punch the mugger but accidentally punched a wall because, as the diary explains: 'People always expect you to punch them. If you punch other things, they'll get confused. I punched the wall to confuse him.'
This caused Fred to have a pained hand, and he drew it back, bloody, and tripped, smacking his head into the wall and rendering himself unconcsious.
'The lights were bright. I thought I was dead. I wasn't dead.'
Fred was now in a hospital, he had just woken up from his short term coma, whatever that's called.
'We did a breathaliser test,' a doctor said to him, 'you got a fucking fifty. What the fuck did you have and how are you not dead?!'
'I didn't have anything. I'm just a hero.'
'What?'
'I'm...nevermind. I'm fine, can I go?'
'Yeah, sure, but someone left you a note.'
The doctor passed the note to Fred and left.
It read as follows: 'Fred, your destiny is near. I am not a paedophile. Come meet me at 55, The Road.'
'There's a road called 'The Road'?' Fred asked, using an irritating amount of speech marks.
He got up, and headed towards his destiny.
'Fred!' The door opened before Fred even managed to knock. 'Come in, come in. We have many things to talk about.'
Fred entered the house of the old bearded man, and began to doubt the note. He probably was a paedophile. The photos of naked children on the walls didn't help.
'You have a great power, Fred. You are the chosen one.'
'All I can do is get drunk.'
'Yes! Yes precisely! Show me how it works?' The man's eyes glinted lustfully.
'No.'
'Oh oh, of course. The time will come when the world will depend on you, young Fred. You must fight the storm. The darkness. The despair. The hopelessness. You must combat the void.'
'Okay. Can I go now?'
'No! You need this.'
The old man handed Fred a photo.
'That's me as a child. I was developed, as you can see. I still am, if you want to see.'
Fred's diary here trails off and there are some small satanic symbols at the bottom. I've travelled around the world to decipher it and the top minds in the world all think it means: 'He made me do it. I didn't do it. Father, forgive me.'
What. A. Homo.
Fred decided that his destiny could wait at the doorstep to the house of his life for a while, and decided he was going to go up to Sexy Hannah and ask her the shit out.
'Hey Hannah!' He said, running over to her.
'Hey Fred...' Hannah said, disappointed. Fred was not an attractive child. He had a black afro thing and often an unshaven beard. Eurgh.
Fred lost confidence at this, so he decided to boost it.
'Hey Hannah, you slutty bitch sex fiend, go out with me,' Fred said, attempting to sound commanding but coming off as a bit of a dick.
'Sure!' Hannah said. Girls are idiots. The diary here says 'I was totally in there. I just needed to keep getting in there. If you catch my drift. Hardcore fucking. Hardcore fucking.' I assume he said it twice to make it a double entendre, but I can't be sure.
Sadly, the next part of the diary tells a very trajik tale. Fred apparently turned up his levels of drunkenness more, and straight up emptied himself all over her. I wish I meant vomit. The diary explains it more than I want to: 'I thought it would be a good idea to punch her to the ground, then sit on her face and shit. It wasn't a good idea.'
Hannah apparently decided to cancel her acceptance of Fred's proposal, and that was that.
There's a lot of boring mess here, in which Fred gets up to other miscellaneous hijinks while drunk, and they're all very hilarious and catastrophic. But then, destiny got up off the doorstep and knocked on Fred's door.
'Hello Fred,' said the stranger, letting himself into Fred's house.
'Who are you?' Fred said.
'I am The Void. Like you, I was granted powers. And I shall end you. You shall not stop me.'
'What can you do?' Fred asked earnestly.
'I control darkness.' The Void replied.
'You turn off lights? I can do that?' Fred said, confused.
'No, as in. Just watch.'
The Void snapped his fingers and a black hole appeared.
'The fuck, hehehehehee.' Fred giggled. He had taken this oppurtunity to get fucking drunk.
'What? It's a tiny black hole. Why aren't you being killed?'
'It's my destiny to defeat you,' Fred said slowly, making sure not to slur any of his words. He slurred them all.
Fred charged up to The Void and straight up punched him in the throat.
'Shit!' Cried the Void. He expanded the black hole. To no avail.
Fred wretched his insides all over The Void, and proceeded to punch him again.
'Fuck!' The Void yelled. Pissed.
The diary here reads: 'I don't know why I've stopped punching The Void. I felt kind of mean. I probably shouldn't be writing in here, I am close to being killed by a maniac.'
From what I can gather from what the neighbours heard, and the corpse of Fred with a bullet wound in his face, The Void gave up trying to kill Intoxicated Fred with a black hole and instead just shot him in the face.
I don't know what's happened to The Void, if indeed he is still alive. We are all in trouble. The last pillar of hope is dead.
Good luck.
Thursday, 10 June 2010
The longest hours of my life.
It was a normal day. Normal things were happening. The weather was as it was, there were no dark voids in the sky to suggest a disaster was about to occur. There were no signs, nothing that could possibly have forewarned me about what was about to occur.
I arrived home at approximately twelve minutes past four. As is my usual time. I went up to my room and got changed and sat on the computer, as is my usual order of doing things. So far, so good. There were no upsets, no ripples in the water. My computer turned on fine. It 'connected to the internet' fine.
Then shadaisy. It wasn't working. MSN, no! Internet explorer, no! Spotify, the last possible beacon of hope in a tunnel of fury and fire? No. Fortunately my offline playlist was there as a backup but that did nothing to stop the horrors of what had just occurred.
I was in an offline world. I was not used to it. I was scared. I was alone. It was dark. Nothing was going right. I didn't know what to do. I retreated away from the computer, scared to invoke its wrath further. I did not know what I had done. I sat on my bed, and cried. I cried for a while. Before I realised, I still had one of my most treasured possessions. Something nothing would ever be able to take away from me.
I still had my wankbank.
This was the last bastion of hope I had, the last pillar of sanity. I once again, had to resort to wanking. That is all my life ever comes down to. Wanking. How depressing is that. I didn't text people, (although actually I sent one text on this, the first day. I did not get a reply.) I just wanked. Then it hit me. There are so few people who actually enjoy talking to me. I went through my contacts, thinking who would reply. Almost nobody. This was a distressing revelation.
I wanked.
After my wanking session was over (it was now pretty late at night) I wondered what else I could do.
Get high.
I knew some dealers. They basically live at Priory Gardens and on one of the many occasions where I was kicked out, I befriended them. I decided getting high by walking down to priory gardens and getting weed would be a foolish thing to do. I decided to get high on life. Of course there is no easy way to do this in a room with nothing but an internetless computer (what can you do on a computer for fun without it? Have any of you ever processed words for fun?) and a wii with no games I wanted to play and a completed Xbox, my options were slim. I had exhausted wanking. I had nothing to do. So, naturally, I decided to jump around on my bed. I promptly smashed my head against the ceiling and cried. I was wounded in a world I did not understand.
A dark world.
After this, I decided getting high on life was an impossible thing to achieve considering the devices I had, so I fell asleep, dreaming one of the happiest dreams I ever had. I was depressed when I woke up.
***
Day two of my internetless nightmare was far easier to deal with. I was ready, I had prepared a rational plan of action: To sleep. All day.
This day is far less interesting to describe, so I shall quickly bullet point what happened.
*I slept.
*I woke up, wanked.
*I slept.
*I woke up, wanked.
*I slept.
*I woke up, wanked.
*I slept.
*I woke up, checked my phone. No texts. I got massively depressed and decided shunning all forms of communication would be the best way to survive this nightmare. I got a text. I was depressed when I read it and rudely told the person I did not want to talk. In retrospect that was a terrible idea, but I felt very unappreciated.
Maybe I need to change.
Or more likely, you all need to change.
I arrived home at approximately twelve minutes past four. As is my usual time. I went up to my room and got changed and sat on the computer, as is my usual order of doing things. So far, so good. There were no upsets, no ripples in the water. My computer turned on fine. It 'connected to the internet' fine.
Then shadaisy. It wasn't working. MSN, no! Internet explorer, no! Spotify, the last possible beacon of hope in a tunnel of fury and fire? No. Fortunately my offline playlist was there as a backup but that did nothing to stop the horrors of what had just occurred.
I was in an offline world. I was not used to it. I was scared. I was alone. It was dark. Nothing was going right. I didn't know what to do. I retreated away from the computer, scared to invoke its wrath further. I did not know what I had done. I sat on my bed, and cried. I cried for a while. Before I realised, I still had one of my most treasured possessions. Something nothing would ever be able to take away from me.
I still had my wankbank.
This was the last bastion of hope I had, the last pillar of sanity. I once again, had to resort to wanking. That is all my life ever comes down to. Wanking. How depressing is that. I didn't text people, (although actually I sent one text on this, the first day. I did not get a reply.) I just wanked. Then it hit me. There are so few people who actually enjoy talking to me. I went through my contacts, thinking who would reply. Almost nobody. This was a distressing revelation.
I wanked.
After my wanking session was over (it was now pretty late at night) I wondered what else I could do.
Get high.
I knew some dealers. They basically live at Priory Gardens and on one of the many occasions where I was kicked out, I befriended them. I decided getting high by walking down to priory gardens and getting weed would be a foolish thing to do. I decided to get high on life. Of course there is no easy way to do this in a room with nothing but an internetless computer (what can you do on a computer for fun without it? Have any of you ever processed words for fun?) and a wii with no games I wanted to play and a completed Xbox, my options were slim. I had exhausted wanking. I had nothing to do. So, naturally, I decided to jump around on my bed. I promptly smashed my head against the ceiling and cried. I was wounded in a world I did not understand.
A dark world.
After this, I decided getting high on life was an impossible thing to achieve considering the devices I had, so I fell asleep, dreaming one of the happiest dreams I ever had. I was depressed when I woke up.
***
Day two of my internetless nightmare was far easier to deal with. I was ready, I had prepared a rational plan of action: To sleep. All day.
This day is far less interesting to describe, so I shall quickly bullet point what happened.
*I slept.
*I woke up, wanked.
*I slept.
*I woke up, wanked.
*I slept.
*I woke up, wanked.
*I slept.
*I woke up, checked my phone. No texts. I got massively depressed and decided shunning all forms of communication would be the best way to survive this nightmare. I got a text. I was depressed when I read it and rudely told the person I did not want to talk. In retrospect that was a terrible idea, but I felt very unappreciated.
Maybe I need to change.
Or more likely, you all need to change.
Monday, 7 June 2010
This should NOT happen!
In the news recently, you may have seen, as indeed I have, that a porn actor recently died. This is not particularly sad or interesting. He died by falling forty feet to his death though. While, that may be a noble and fancy death, I could not help but feel disgusted and horrified.
That is one superhero penis.
That is not how a pornstar should die! There are a few specific methods in which a pornstar can die. So, for all pornstars reading this blog, ie none, and all of you who read my blog who wants to be pornstars, ie nobody, I have compiled the list of ways in which they can die without any ramifications as being remembered as a fucking bumbaclut.
AIDs, or some other STD.
Pornstars, by their very nature, have sex a lot. This is almost always true, unless they are one of the poor depressed individuals who makes like a guest appearance as the husband who can't satisfy his wife enough. I can give her what she wants though. Oh yeah, god can I. I know what she wants. Me. Anyway, as such, it follows that should collect STDs, having at least five by the time they die and possibly one of those being the cause of death. Ever had syphillis? Ever left it untreated?
That is one superhero penis.Attempting the Karma Sutra Method of Penis Enlargement
This may be a little more obscure, as I don't know how many of you have had the time to read the Karma Sutra. It is a long book. It is a boring book. It is a book written for men with four inch penises, and I am not cutting my dick in half just to be in the demographic. Anyway, the Karma Sutra is not just about sex positions. Oh no no no! How wrong you are! It also has a section on how to enlarge your dick. Brilliant, I hear you say. Unless you're a girl. A single lonely girl. Possibly ugly, with no hope of love. Statistics tell me those kinds of girls make up most of my readers. Sorry. Anyway, wanna know the method? Rubbing wasp stingers on your dick. Then hanging it through a hole.
So, if the pornstar is allergic to wasp stings, instant win. Tell your children the story.
'How did uncle die, daddy?'
'He tried too hard to have a big penis.'
'Yaaay!'
'He tried too hard to have a big penis.'
'Yaaay!'
Outstanding.
Putting it in the wrong place at the wrong time.
I'm sure lots of you are disgusting perverts, and as such I'm sure lots of you have 69ed. This is not unusual for disgusting perverts such as yourselves. However, what you may not know is that many people when going through orgasm clamp down really hard. If you have put two and two together, you may decide that if you're really good at licking out, you should never 69 again.
If you put two and two together and got 69, then not only are you very sexually minded but you are also possibly retarded and should get that checked. Point being, due to the force of clamping down and the general lack of armour on a penis, orgasming when giving head can result in a very distinct lack of penis.
Any pornstar would be proud to proclaim as they were dying from loss of blood; 'I died because I made a woman orgasm so hard she bit my DICK off.'
Or in the suicide note (I would definitely kill myself were I to suffer from a distinct lack of penis) (That is the correct medical terminology) saying you had to end your life because you pleasured a woman SO MUCH, she had no choice to bite your dick off. No choice. Is that better than falling forty foot? Yes. Most certainly.
Risky Bestiality
By far, in my opinion, the best way to go. Pornstars should be remembered for how they braved daringly the cameras and the bright lights of glory to bring us poor males entertainment that we are too useless to get anywhere else. I'll take this opportunity here and now to thank every pornstar, male or female, for all they have done for me, my right hand, and my dick. In the holy name of glorious masturbation, I salute you all! And so do most people reading this blog, statistics show.
Anyway, point being, Pornstars should be remember in legend for being the most sexually daring, the most exciting, the most daredevil. They should fuck the almighty shit and possibly spine out of everything they see. This is of course a hard task, and is bound to go wrong.
Sadly, and depressingly for me, moreso because it reminds me of my complete stupidity; I am incapable of uploading another picture. The formatting on this website is awful.
Google image 'Angry Rhino' and now imagine having sex with it. That is the way a pornstar should go. Male or Female. Angry. Animal. Sex.
So there you go, four far more spectacular ways for a pornstar to die than fucking falling a bit too fucking far. Fuck.
NB: I had to fucking google 'syphillised penis.' Shit you search on google goes in a database man. They're gonna think I'm nuts.
THERE HAS TO BE
Something exciting to happen to me at some point soon, so I can write another blog of interest, as opposed to these shitty one line ones. Which are shit.
I was thinking 'How to Seduce Madonna' but the only idea I could come up with was, well, rape.
Also I'm not sure how many of you would want to seduce Madonna.
I was thinking 'How to Seduce Madonna' but the only idea I could come up with was, well, rape.
Also I'm not sure how many of you would want to seduce Madonna.
Saturday, 5 June 2010
Thursday, 3 June 2010
This day, which I named the start of summer, better not be a benchmark.
I know nobody reads this, but yesterday was such a shitstorm of a day that I feel it necessary to tell myself how it went, just in case, in years to come, I have a bad day. Then I can compare it to this one.
So, I had stayed up all night, waiting for Glee and talking to Chloe, which was fine, but I was tired. I hadn't slept by the time I had finished watching Glee (which was AWESOME) I had not slept for about 30 hours. I go downstairs to get some food.
'Your French tutor is today, Ryan.' Says my Mum, malice in her eyes, knowing the anger this would cause me.
'Oh.' I replied in articulate detail, before going back upstairs with the galaxy bar I had salvaged from the cupboard, and crying tears of shame.
Anyway, not much else happened between that point and the point where I got to my French tutor's. She's a bit nutty, but I dealt with it, although I yawned a lot so I felt quite rude but I don't think she noticed. It was all good. Anyway, I had decided to take my Game Card with me, which had £150 on it. There were no games I wanted to buy, I just wanted to buy games because I fucking could. I felt this was a noble cause, however I remembered, much to my chagrin, that there was not a Game Shop in Orpington High Street.
'Ah,' I said, leaving the French tutor's office, 'I can go to the Nugent Centre. But first, food.'
So off I trotted to subway, ordering my footlong sub as I always do and making various hilarious remarks in my head about the connotations of a six incher vs a footlong.
Who's that over there? I wondered to myself, thinking I recognised two people. 'Ah, it's Jack and Ben!' I said out loud in an excited manner, confusing everyone in the shop to a degree that I'm sure would have been funny were I not shocked. Jack and Ben, who both had girlfriends, were being studly with some other girls.
Being the Hero Of Society that I am, I wandered over there and told them to stay away from that gash. In a jokey manner, of course. It was not Jack and Ben. It was two teenagers. In orpington. In a little bit of grass. Who I had told to stay away from gash. Fear took hold of me, gripping me and wrestling me to the floor. I shook the fear off and promptly ran, the youths chasing me for a fair distance, and I'm sure one of them was a fucking Dragon at this point. I managed to evade them, and make it quite a bit of the way to the Nugent centre. So far, so good.
As I was walking, old people appeared behind me, somehow, out of nowhere. An old man pimping two old ladies. I didn't hear all of their conversation, but I heard the man say 'When I first saw you Maud I got...' I like to imagine this ended with 'A boner so big I needed to use a walking stick even then,' and then he laughed, while the two Ladies ran away from his sexually perverted nature while whincing horribly.
My walk continued fine, even though I had forgotten to put deodorant on and it was fucking hot and no one had called me on the smell that now must be eluding from every pore on my body. It was brilliant. However, more bad things were about to occur. Two fairly attractive emo girls on the other side of the road decided to call out for me. This sounds like a good thing right? Right? WRONG. They had the voice of neither male nor female, human nor beast. It sounded like a swamp ghost was defecating out ideas to rape people and I was its bowl. I walked a bit faster in order to escape, and eventually, I lost them. I had to cross the road though to get to the Nugent centre, and I was worried this intrepid activity would cause them to catch up.
So, without any worry for my own life, I sprinted across the road, only avoiding cars because of the well timed Red Light. Which makes this sound much more impressive but honest to someone I didn't know. Anyway I was at the Nugent Centre now, and there was Game, in all its Holy Glory. As I got inside, I decided I wanted to get the game known as 'Tales of Vesperia,' because it sounds awesome. I looked around, and not seeing it, I decided to buy 'Resonance of Fate,' as well, because, quite simply, that sounds badass. And more the point, because I could.
I went up to the desk, certain I would be IDed and then have to cry, as 'Resonance of Fate' was a 16. I did not get IDed, but on asking for 'Tales of Vesperia,' and them not having it in their backroom, I was close to it.
'Just this then,' I sighed wearily.
'Special offer!' Said the overly cheerful employee, 'we're selling these Xbox chargers on the cheap!'
'Fine then.' I said, not paying attention to what I was doing, and only realising after I actually said fine to one of each fucking colour.
'Also, do you have a wii?!' He asked, ejaculating with excitement, or, I would hope, someone under the desk tossing him off. Nobody should get that excited.
'I do.' I grunted back.
'Wanna buy some wii chargers?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!!111/1/?!?!?!!?!?!?!eleven!!?!!' He then asked.
'No. I do not. I am fine.' I said sternly.
'You sure!?!??!?!?!?!!??!!!!!!?!?oneoneonelevendash!?!?!?!' He asked again.
This went on for several minutes, and after several other questions which I am sure culminated in a full on bondage session, I left the shop with 'Resonance of Fate,' and two Xbox controller chargers, one of each colour. JUST IN CASE, you know.
But I didn't have 'Tales of Vesperia,' which I had now decided was necessary for me to have a happy life until SUPER MARIO GALAXY TWO GETS RELEASED EEEE! and I was determined to buy the fucking shit out of that game.
'How though, how can you do it?' I asked myself in a leading question, knowing full well I knew the answer and just needing a deliberate set up. Original.
'I shall go, to Bromley!' I announced majestically, to nobody but myself.
'Alright then! Lets go!' I replied in my dutiful assistant voice. Remember I have not slept for about 32 hours.
So I trotted back, deciding that I would stop off at home as well, so I could put down the stuff I already had and change into jeans that didn't require me to keep my hands in my pockets at all times in order to hold them up.
(Please wait, as I defecate)
Right, so I'm back.
Anyway, on the way back, I noticed something I didn't notice before. A park in Orpington, the name of which I am not confident on, is directly opposite a building that says 'DANGER OF DEATH DO NOT ENTER' and looks like the sort of place where they'd put real rapists in with statutory rapists to see what the real rapists would do the statutory rapists. IE: monsters vs people the government pretend are monsters in order to boost fear statistics and what happens is the statutory rapists just die out of sheer force of will in order to escape the ceaseless buttrape that would be the rest of their lives.
Lovely stuff, I know, but hey ho. There was then a big gap where nothing of interest happened, until I saw Laura Johnson, a friend of mine. I did not want to make an identification error as I had previously done. So I acted like I didn't recognise her. But she recognised me. Ah! It was for sure Laura! So I smiled, but after my confused look, I imagine it to have come across as a grimace. She looked shocked. I panicked. It wasn't Laura! I went back to confused. Then decided just to smile. I call this quick contortion of facial expressions my 'Um...yeah?! :)' expression. It is harder to pronounce in person due to the emoticon. This all occured in the bit of the high street near Tesco. I imagine in my head I said 'Love to stop and chat Laura *smug grin* but I got places to be.' I did not say this. People would give me dirty looks.
Shortly after this I saw Justin Bieber sat at a bus stop, and I cried tears of self loathing as I had no working firearms on me. I tried to pretend this experience had never happened and I continued onwards. For a while I was stuck behind a small asian lady, and I felt powerful and mighty, and I was still sleep deprived, so I imagine my brain was not fully functioning when I mightily roared in her face. She ran away, and I panicked at what kind of a monster I had become.
I began swinging the Game bag around, fully knowing that this had not been done since homosexual's in the early 1900s and I began to severely doubt my sexuality. Fortunately, I remembered seeing Justin Bieber, and my bag swinging confidence grew and I did it all the way home.
'FUCK' I cried out in an overly dramatic fashion compared to the situation, 'THE DOOR, IT IS LOCKED!'
The door was locked. The door to my house. I opened the gate to the back garden, and I saw beautiful hope. An open window, although it was on the second storey. Thankfully however, although my family are pigshit levels of annoying about the lockedness of the front door when they go out, they leave windows open and they leave fucking ladders for easy fucking access in the garden. I would suggest that this is fucking retarded. Anyway, I got the ladder, put it up to a window and climbed in. I went downstairs, unlocked the back door, went and got my Game stuff, deposited it in my room, got changed into better jeans, shat, and had a drink. Good stuff. It was now half four, and my brain was telling me that Bromley closed at six.
I rushed out the backdoor, making sure to leave it unlocked for later entry, and began my trek to Bromley.
I got to Farnborough park without any difficulty, where I saw two hot girls walking in the opposite direction and immediately began to put on a cool face. This was entirely accidental, conciously I am aware that my cool face looks like a kid that just found lego. After being struck in the face with a mallet.
They were twenty and out of my league, so in the grand scheme of things it made little difference but I like to pretend my life has some worth. I got to the end of Farnborough where I saw an old man with a monk haircut doing roadworks by himself. He looked cool so I gave him a casual nod. He winked back. I winked also. After thirty minutes of heavy anal, I continued onwards on my trek.
This is the longest portion of my journey of which there was no incident except seeing one of the most goddamn ugly people in the entire world. Goddamn. She was horrifically sized and faced and voiced and her personality was that of a common, COMMONER. I was horrified but I marched onwards, sullying all my willpower to not vomit all over everyone nearby.
I made it to Bromley! I was on the final stretch! Game was so close! I only had about 20 minutes left though. I knew this was plenty enough time, but because I fucking could I hurried the shit there anyway. I entered Game with no difficulty. I walked up to the front desk thing.
'Do you have Tales of Vesperia on the Xbox?' I said, breathless, glimmers of an almost paedophillic lust in my eyes.
'No, we do not. Someone bought the last copy last week.'
I broke down.
I fell to the floor, tears of hate flowing down me. I managed to gather myself together enough to skulk out the shop, but my feet were in pain. I decided I would mosey down to shortlands and sleep until I was ready to return home.
On the way to Shortlands I got stuck behind a gang of chavs, who were discussing the merits of getting stuck in a water slide. I fucking hoped they all did and then the fucking thing would blow up. The world would be a much better place.
When I got to Shortlands, Jack and Hayley were there, so sleeping didn't get done, but I had a nice conversation with them which put a tiny little speck of niceness on my crapfest of a day.
I got home eventually, tired, miserable, hurt, and alone, and learnt one thing from my day.
My life is better when I stay at home. So, my jeans hit the floor, my hand gripped my dick and I furiously masturbated until I fell asleep in a pool of semen and my own blood.
So, I had stayed up all night, waiting for Glee and talking to Chloe, which was fine, but I was tired. I hadn't slept by the time I had finished watching Glee (which was AWESOME) I had not slept for about 30 hours. I go downstairs to get some food.
'Your French tutor is today, Ryan.' Says my Mum, malice in her eyes, knowing the anger this would cause me.
'Oh.' I replied in articulate detail, before going back upstairs with the galaxy bar I had salvaged from the cupboard, and crying tears of shame.
Anyway, not much else happened between that point and the point where I got to my French tutor's. She's a bit nutty, but I dealt with it, although I yawned a lot so I felt quite rude but I don't think she noticed. It was all good. Anyway, I had decided to take my Game Card with me, which had £150 on it. There were no games I wanted to buy, I just wanted to buy games because I fucking could. I felt this was a noble cause, however I remembered, much to my chagrin, that there was not a Game Shop in Orpington High Street.
'Ah,' I said, leaving the French tutor's office, 'I can go to the Nugent Centre. But first, food.'
So off I trotted to subway, ordering my footlong sub as I always do and making various hilarious remarks in my head about the connotations of a six incher vs a footlong.
Who's that over there? I wondered to myself, thinking I recognised two people. 'Ah, it's Jack and Ben!' I said out loud in an excited manner, confusing everyone in the shop to a degree that I'm sure would have been funny were I not shocked. Jack and Ben, who both had girlfriends, were being studly with some other girls.
Being the Hero Of Society that I am, I wandered over there and told them to stay away from that gash. In a jokey manner, of course. It was not Jack and Ben. It was two teenagers. In orpington. In a little bit of grass. Who I had told to stay away from gash. Fear took hold of me, gripping me and wrestling me to the floor. I shook the fear off and promptly ran, the youths chasing me for a fair distance, and I'm sure one of them was a fucking Dragon at this point. I managed to evade them, and make it quite a bit of the way to the Nugent centre. So far, so good.
As I was walking, old people appeared behind me, somehow, out of nowhere. An old man pimping two old ladies. I didn't hear all of their conversation, but I heard the man say 'When I first saw you Maud I got...' I like to imagine this ended with 'A boner so big I needed to use a walking stick even then,' and then he laughed, while the two Ladies ran away from his sexually perverted nature while whincing horribly.
My walk continued fine, even though I had forgotten to put deodorant on and it was fucking hot and no one had called me on the smell that now must be eluding from every pore on my body. It was brilliant. However, more bad things were about to occur. Two fairly attractive emo girls on the other side of the road decided to call out for me. This sounds like a good thing right? Right? WRONG. They had the voice of neither male nor female, human nor beast. It sounded like a swamp ghost was defecating out ideas to rape people and I was its bowl. I walked a bit faster in order to escape, and eventually, I lost them. I had to cross the road though to get to the Nugent centre, and I was worried this intrepid activity would cause them to catch up.
So, without any worry for my own life, I sprinted across the road, only avoiding cars because of the well timed Red Light. Which makes this sound much more impressive but honest to someone I didn't know. Anyway I was at the Nugent Centre now, and there was Game, in all its Holy Glory. As I got inside, I decided I wanted to get the game known as 'Tales of Vesperia,' because it sounds awesome. I looked around, and not seeing it, I decided to buy 'Resonance of Fate,' as well, because, quite simply, that sounds badass. And more the point, because I could.
I went up to the desk, certain I would be IDed and then have to cry, as 'Resonance of Fate' was a 16. I did not get IDed, but on asking for 'Tales of Vesperia,' and them not having it in their backroom, I was close to it.
'Just this then,' I sighed wearily.
'Special offer!' Said the overly cheerful employee, 'we're selling these Xbox chargers on the cheap!'
'Fine then.' I said, not paying attention to what I was doing, and only realising after I actually said fine to one of each fucking colour.
'Also, do you have a wii?!' He asked, ejaculating with excitement, or, I would hope, someone under the desk tossing him off. Nobody should get that excited.
'I do.' I grunted back.
'Wanna buy some wii chargers?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!!111/1/?!?!?!!?!?!?!eleven!!?!!' He then asked.
'No. I do not. I am fine.' I said sternly.
'You sure!?!??!?!?!?!!??!!!!!!?!?oneoneonelevendash!?!?!?!' He asked again.
This went on for several minutes, and after several other questions which I am sure culminated in a full on bondage session, I left the shop with 'Resonance of Fate,' and two Xbox controller chargers, one of each colour. JUST IN CASE, you know.
But I didn't have 'Tales of Vesperia,' which I had now decided was necessary for me to have a happy life until SUPER MARIO GALAXY TWO GETS RELEASED EEEE! and I was determined to buy the fucking shit out of that game.
'How though, how can you do it?' I asked myself in a leading question, knowing full well I knew the answer and just needing a deliberate set up. Original.
'I shall go, to Bromley!' I announced majestically, to nobody but myself.
'Alright then! Lets go!' I replied in my dutiful assistant voice. Remember I have not slept for about 32 hours.
So I trotted back, deciding that I would stop off at home as well, so I could put down the stuff I already had and change into jeans that didn't require me to keep my hands in my pockets at all times in order to hold them up.
(Please wait, as I defecate)
Right, so I'm back.
Anyway, on the way back, I noticed something I didn't notice before. A park in Orpington, the name of which I am not confident on, is directly opposite a building that says 'DANGER OF DEATH DO NOT ENTER' and looks like the sort of place where they'd put real rapists in with statutory rapists to see what the real rapists would do the statutory rapists. IE: monsters vs people the government pretend are monsters in order to boost fear statistics and what happens is the statutory rapists just die out of sheer force of will in order to escape the ceaseless buttrape that would be the rest of their lives.
Lovely stuff, I know, but hey ho. There was then a big gap where nothing of interest happened, until I saw Laura Johnson, a friend of mine. I did not want to make an identification error as I had previously done. So I acted like I didn't recognise her. But she recognised me. Ah! It was for sure Laura! So I smiled, but after my confused look, I imagine it to have come across as a grimace. She looked shocked. I panicked. It wasn't Laura! I went back to confused. Then decided just to smile. I call this quick contortion of facial expressions my 'Um...yeah?! :)' expression. It is harder to pronounce in person due to the emoticon. This all occured in the bit of the high street near Tesco. I imagine in my head I said 'Love to stop and chat Laura *smug grin* but I got places to be.' I did not say this. People would give me dirty looks.
Shortly after this I saw Justin Bieber sat at a bus stop, and I cried tears of self loathing as I had no working firearms on me. I tried to pretend this experience had never happened and I continued onwards. For a while I was stuck behind a small asian lady, and I felt powerful and mighty, and I was still sleep deprived, so I imagine my brain was not fully functioning when I mightily roared in her face. She ran away, and I panicked at what kind of a monster I had become.
I began swinging the Game bag around, fully knowing that this had not been done since homosexual's in the early 1900s and I began to severely doubt my sexuality. Fortunately, I remembered seeing Justin Bieber, and my bag swinging confidence grew and I did it all the way home.
'FUCK' I cried out in an overly dramatic fashion compared to the situation, 'THE DOOR, IT IS LOCKED!'
The door was locked. The door to my house. I opened the gate to the back garden, and I saw beautiful hope. An open window, although it was on the second storey. Thankfully however, although my family are pigshit levels of annoying about the lockedness of the front door when they go out, they leave windows open and they leave fucking ladders for easy fucking access in the garden. I would suggest that this is fucking retarded. Anyway, I got the ladder, put it up to a window and climbed in. I went downstairs, unlocked the back door, went and got my Game stuff, deposited it in my room, got changed into better jeans, shat, and had a drink. Good stuff. It was now half four, and my brain was telling me that Bromley closed at six.
I rushed out the backdoor, making sure to leave it unlocked for later entry, and began my trek to Bromley.
I got to Farnborough park without any difficulty, where I saw two hot girls walking in the opposite direction and immediately began to put on a cool face. This was entirely accidental, conciously I am aware that my cool face looks like a kid that just found lego. After being struck in the face with a mallet.
They were twenty and out of my league, so in the grand scheme of things it made little difference but I like to pretend my life has some worth. I got to the end of Farnborough where I saw an old man with a monk haircut doing roadworks by himself. He looked cool so I gave him a casual nod. He winked back. I winked also. After thirty minutes of heavy anal, I continued onwards on my trek.
This is the longest portion of my journey of which there was no incident except seeing one of the most goddamn ugly people in the entire world. Goddamn. She was horrifically sized and faced and voiced and her personality was that of a common, COMMONER. I was horrified but I marched onwards, sullying all my willpower to not vomit all over everyone nearby.
I made it to Bromley! I was on the final stretch! Game was so close! I only had about 20 minutes left though. I knew this was plenty enough time, but because I fucking could I hurried the shit there anyway. I entered Game with no difficulty. I walked up to the front desk thing.
'Do you have Tales of Vesperia on the Xbox?' I said, breathless, glimmers of an almost paedophillic lust in my eyes.
'No, we do not. Someone bought the last copy last week.'
I broke down.
I fell to the floor, tears of hate flowing down me. I managed to gather myself together enough to skulk out the shop, but my feet were in pain. I decided I would mosey down to shortlands and sleep until I was ready to return home.
On the way to Shortlands I got stuck behind a gang of chavs, who were discussing the merits of getting stuck in a water slide. I fucking hoped they all did and then the fucking thing would blow up. The world would be a much better place.
When I got to Shortlands, Jack and Hayley were there, so sleeping didn't get done, but I had a nice conversation with them which put a tiny little speck of niceness on my crapfest of a day.
I got home eventually, tired, miserable, hurt, and alone, and learnt one thing from my day.
My life is better when I stay at home. So, my jeans hit the floor, my hand gripped my dick and I furiously masturbated until I fell asleep in a pool of semen and my own blood.
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