A list of some things that are annoying me...

In no particular order...

1: Rave music
On Monday, I hitched a ride with the (loser) 1st Eight on the way back from School's head, and they listened to Rave Music all the way. Now, if there was ever a good explanation for them losing (other than most of them being fuckin' jerks) it's rave music.
Its SHIT. Rave music sucks so much. It's like a huge bloody vacuum in dustland, sucking up the little dust people with its giant nozzle of death. It literally sucks THAT much. Here is what rave music is composed of:

a: The 'music'. Well, not really music. Usually its three notes played OVER AND OVER AGAIN AD NAUSEUM, and every three rotations they add another irritating drum beat. Or, failing the drum beat, a squeaky electronic noise. Also, they steal these three notes from other, good songs. It's three fucking notes, dipshit... you don't have to do anything else (in fact, all the creative imput seems possible by a 14 year old using his dad's computer) but you can WRITE THE NOTES. I mean, CHRIST. There are techno-rave remixes of everything. Do you know why the writer of the Pink Panther Theme Tune didn't put his beloved score to the wicked phat beats of a synthesised techno drumkit? Because he knew that it would sound SHIT if he did. Which it does.
Occasionally some bitch with a squeaky voice will pipe up and squeal about 'desire', or 'love' or 'reaching higher'. Well, at a musical level, you can't sink much lower than singing on a rave soundtrack. Hell, whistling in a Physics lesson, just to piss off Mr Clarke has more artistic merit. CHRIST you make me shit.
b: The Disk Jockey or, as I believe you young people call them nowadays, a 'DJ' (that reminds me... I look fucking FIT in a dinner jacket. James Bond can go to hell. Actually, he can go to hell anyway... JUST LET TARANTINO DIRECT THE FUCKING FILM).
The DJ on this particular rave CD was, actually, the biggest fucking dipshit I HAVE EVER MET. He was like a guy who has diahrea, but hasn't eaten anything for three days. He kept talking, but nothing was happening. He was just saying random syllables and moronic phrases about 'beat it' and 'dance to the top'. Heres a quote that he might have said, I can't remember cos I WASN'T PAYIN ATTENTION:

Yo yo yo, we'll take it to the max! ... Wicked! Wicked wicked wicked WOOOOO! TO the TOP! ONE ONE ONE ONE FOUR! Down to the top! MAX! I wanna hear you SCREAM. SCREAM. WICKED. WOOOO. TO THE TOP! WICKED! Yo. Uh... some fat beats now. DJ FUCKWIT (NB: This was not his actual name... how I wish it was) to the MAX! Woo! Um...
OOH OOH OOH OOH OOH OOH OOH OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOH OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOH TO THE MAX DOWN TO THE TOP WICKED. I want to hear you SCREAM, WHITTON! WICKED! You don't wanna be anywhere else but here! WOO...

And it went on like that. If anybody needs a good throttling with a telephone cord, it was him. Grr.

2: AS Maths
Look, I will reveal a secret. I'm shit at Maths. I got the A* in GCSE maths just by freewheeling (for two fucking years!) off the hard work I did to get into school. And now I've been stuffd into the AS level set, in which maths is hard and scary. I don't remember telling anybody that I wanted to be placed into an AS level set. Yet somebody, in their infinite wisdom, decided that was where I'd rather be. Uh, NO. I would much prefer to be in any of the following classes:
English
French
Spanish
Art
History
IT (we don't even have an IT class)
Biology
Chemistry, yes, Chemistry
Fucking PHYSICS
Oh, wait a second. Did I just list every other class I do? Oh yeah, I DID. Why's that? Oh yeah, its because I DON'T WANT TO DO AS LEVEL MATHS. It fucking SUCKS. Everything is hard, counter-intuitive and POINTLESS. Yes, that is the principle problem. Who gives a shit whether I can double differentiate something? Nobody. When I'm in my future high paid career of King Journalist of the entire planet, am I ever going to need to produce a circle trigonometry graph? In fact, for that matter, is ANYONE? Sitting here, using the entire power of my brain (that's a lot of manly power), I can't think of a single occasion when trigonometry graphs would ever... and I MEAN EVER... be useful. Fuckit.

Anyway. I missed school on Monday, because we were busy losing School's head and, as such, missed the maths lesson. And as LUCK would have it, I also missed the start of the new topic, and the homework based on it. Now, one would think that, having not been introduced to the subject, I wouldn't have to do the homework. Well one would be WRONG, moron. Here's the conversation:

Me: Miss, I didn't do the homework, because I wasn't at class on Monday.
Teach: Homework, please.
Me: No, I wasn't there so I didn't do it and thingy said that we had a new topic.
Ogg: He hasn't done the topic, miss.
Teach: He can speak for himself. No homework?
Me: Yes, no homework. I haven't even started the topic.
Teach: Well, you should have done the homework. Copy Oliver's notes. I want it in tomorrow.
Me: But how am I supposed to...?
Teach: If you get stuck, go to a Maths clinic.
*swans off*
Me: Not so fast, bitch.
*I pull out a 12-Gauge and take out her spine*
*This last part may not have happened and, in fact, didn't.*

And then, later on in the lesson, she yells at me for copying OGG's maths notes. FOR CHRIST'S SAKE. Aralkdjfalsjdf;lasdjf;asjdfassahdfk;hasd;fhasdjk;fhasdk;fhasdhfkjasdhfljkasdhfjkasdh, MATHS IS POINTLESS, I WANT TO GO AND LIVE IN A CAVE AND NEVER HAVE TO DIFFERENTIATE ANYTHING EXCEPT FOR THE FISH I AM GOING TO CATCH AND EAT, AND WHEN I SAY 'DIFFERENTIATE', I MEAN 'MARINADE IN VINEGAR'.

You cunts.

3: Comic Relief
It's just not funny. It isn't. You know what the most comic and the most relieving thing about Comic Relief is? When it ends. Because, mathematically, Comic Relief is negative funny, so when it ends, the negative will be removed and so the overall funniness of television will actually rise significantly.
And honestly, who gives a shit about Africa anymore? I mean, I know its all terrible and stuff, but Africa is so passe nowadays... Asia is where all the action is AT. The Africans have had our support for the last twenty years, and a good lot of use its done them. They can't just sit there and expect us to bail them out all the time with shitty TV specials and lame charity records. I bet Bob Geldof was really pissed off when the tsunami hit, because everybody immediately stopped caring about his lame re-hash of Band Aid. Do they know its Christmas time at all? Probably not, Bob, as they've got enough problems of their own without worrying about a religious event about some guy getting born in a stable and being horribly poor but STILL HAVING MORE THAN THEM. So in conclusion: Piss off, Geldoff. Haha.
Well, the racist part of the blog is over... back to me destroying Comic Relief:

The Noses... NOT FUNNY. What's so bloody hilarious about some guy looking like he has a tumour on his face? If I want
hilarious tumour humour (which I often do) I watch Casualty or read the 'sorry about you getting cancer' cards in Clintons. Man, I am OFFENSIVE today.
The 'Celebs' making fools of themselves... not funny. NOTHING IS FUNNY AND do you know, I can't be bothered to finish this rant now, as The Simpsons is on and... something. I might finish this later. Or, not. Whatever.

Kill zombies with... uh... something.