Revising properly for the mocks,
Making the tree in my art picture look non crap,
Cheering Abi up at Emma's party,
Not fucking up my Spanish oral by speaking French,
Doing something really rebellious,
Getting into the Third Eight at the first selection,
Seat racing for the Third Eight,
Remembering Oli G's birthday,
Getting above 36% in the Core Maths Mock,
Seeing The Spongebob Squarepants Movie,
Saving Ogg from the claws of Steve,
Winning the Hampton Head,
Learning to play the guitar,
Getting my Lion essay done in time,
Writing an interview with Lucien Freud,
Getting a mumps innoculation,
Getting Ogg a birthday present,
Seat racing for the Third Eight,
Understanding what's so funny about Stella and Charlie in League of Gentlemen,
Making pancakes,
Visiting every museum in London,
Not falling over the stairs,
Getting a father's day present,
Making a decent tsunami poster,
Caring about the tsunami,
Giving money to hobos,
Perfecting my Papa Lazarou imitation,
Winning Worcester Head,
Learning to juggle,
Going to the zoo,
Winning Schools Head,
Going to a gig,
Remembering to finish my Art GCSE sketchbook on time,
Having a really great non-snail-related art idea... because snails would be a SHIT idea,
Going to a gig... what is a gig? Is it horse related?,
Be fascinating and really giving a shit at the HSBCA dinner,
Being adequately prepared for the French trip,
Talking French on the French trip,
Having a massive amount of fun on the French trip,
Not getting hyper on coffee and then falling into a Pixies singing fit,
Buying Resident Evil 4,
Not getting highly pissed off in Berlin at a poor person with a nice haircut who didn't deserve it, and a short fattie with stupid hair who probably did,
Talking German,
Finding a decent hoodie in a massive German department store,
Not having a near panic attack and going into a nervous swearing/sweating fit in the middle of a massive German crowd,
Accessing porn on the TVs in the hotel on the rowing trip,
Having a lot of fun on the rowing trip,
Not being sickened by the depravity of the rest of the boaties in our rowing trip,
Getting into the Third Eight for the rowing trip,
Going to London with my friends,
Going to the cinema,
Thinking up a better swear word than 'cunt',
Seeing my father the second time at the marathon,
Starting revision,
Going to the Originals Cinema Meeting,
Punching Brent in his teeth,
Understanding Core Maths,
Winning Wallingford Regatta,
Not getting pissed off at my frenchy,
Not taking advantage of my language skills for mean purposes while the french guy was staying,
Getting my little sister a decent birthday present,
Winning Basher Regatta,
Figuring out how to stop my computer crashing/freezing,
Getting a decent ergo time,
Revising properly for anything,
Remembering Paul's birthday,
Getting my grandad a birthday present,
Looking cool in a fisherman hat,
Looking where I'm going while cycling and not crashing into a car,
Keeping my rowing t-shirt clean and clear of sun tan lotion,
Owning up to crashing into a car and doing the right thing,
Getting upgraded to the 3rd Eight at the last second,
Starting a Georgie-Zaremba club that LASTED,
Winning National Schools,
Competing in National Schools,
Getting drunk successfully without making a moron of myself,
Seeing the League of Gentlemen film,
Keeping Cassie happy,
Selling Season 1 of League of Gentlemen,
Not annoying Fati,
Lifting the boat up,
Winning Reading Amateur Regatta,
Doing well in the D-Maths exam,
Not wasting 40 quid on DVDs I don't need,
Not peeing on my shoes in a portaloo,
Winning Marlow Regatta,
Getting a tan,
Remembering the way back to my house,
Winning Live 8 tickets after voting 5 times,
Saving my soap rack from a hideous death,
Finishing my biology revision,
Counting the number of items on this list.
If you bothered to, you have just read a list of the things I have tried and failed to do this year. I haven't counted (in fact, I've failed to) but there are well over fifty. That is incredibly depressing, for several reasons. Firstly, the amount of things I've failed at. Secondly, the fact that I was able to come up with a list that long off the top of my head. I can't give you an exact number of how many items there are because, even as I type this, I think of brand new ways that I've succeeded in failure, and am adding them in. Because, I'm cool, you see.
Hey, look how many things on the list are rowing related. I mean, wow. I am probably the world's worst boatie ever. And that's saying something. I mean, there are some real fuckups in our boat club. I mean, there's that guy who smells of baby-powder. And that ugly fat kid. And that guy who throws up every time anything exciting happens. But I think that I rise above these impressive ranks to take the number one spot of lead fuck up of the boaties this year.
After a lot of thinking, here's the total number of regattas (large boat and small boat), heads, and unoffical races that I have won in (when I say won, I mean coming first, second, or third) my entire rowing career:
0
Actually, here's the number of races that, this year, we've come above 4th place in:
0
There were these two birds, a duck and a swan. The duck kept making fun of the swan, and stole the swan's girlfriend (look, ignore the biological inconsistencies, you pedantic pricks, it's A JOKE). So the swan, being the jealous fellow he was, went to the Godfather, uh, Fish, who was this big mofo with cotton balls in his cheeks. He explained his problem and said that he wanted the duck killed. The Godfather Fish thought for a moment, then he said:
"This I will do, but for a price. After we kill this bastard, do you want the body?"
"No," said the swan, "Just send me the bill."
Hahahhaha. Oh man, I'm so shit at rowing. It actually is getting embarassing. Our boat is the loser boat. I'm not being mean to the rest of the crew, I love them all to bits in a way that's semi homoerotic, but, to be honest, if we don't win anything, or ever come above 4th, we're the loser crew. That's just how it goes. We lost the race that was for people that have yet to win anything this year. But I think that the entire crew has come to accept this. Well I have. Hell, I would be surprised if we won anything. It would seriously shake me up. I think that that's what my old english teacher meant when he said that I have "not really a killer instinct, probably more of a cuddle-me instinct". Thanks, Sir. Way to boost my fragile male ego there. But he was probably correct. Damn his tubby soul.
And, of course, our boat has the fan-club. Yes, mates, while the rest of the boat club gets fit boaties, we have the posse of mothers who follow us around every regatta, smiling happily as we limp in, bleeding and vomiting, in a hearty 5th place. God bless them and their attempts to make us seem less unworthy.
"Well DONE!" they say, for some reason.
"You did very well!" they say, somehow managing to sidestep the issue of us losing,
"Well, they were very big", they say. And, my own personal favourite:
"Well, they had home ground."
HOME GROUND? IT'S A RIVER! IT'S WATER. Do they honestly think that we lost everything, but that's ok, because every other crew in existence has home ground, no matter where the race is taking place? They probably do. If it's taking place on OUR home stretch, they usually mention something about the weather, and creep off. Re-reading this, I sound like a cynical git, so I've gone back and inserted a joke about river wildlife. Now I still sound cynical, just with an irrelevant joke my grandad told me in the middle. Who am I kidding? I'm a moody git. Fuckers.
"Cheer up," people tell me, "At least you have your health".
"At least you have a home to live in,"
"At least you didn't get hit by a tsunami,"
"At least you're not going out with Steve,"
"At least you're not going to fail all your GCSEs,"
"At least you have a loving family,"
"At least someone hasn't posted an embarassing picture of you in a gay purple leotard all over the internet,"
"At least you're not starving."
Etc.
All these people piss me off. You know the sort. Those pricks who have all the bad stuff having to them and then suck up all the sympathy that could be going towards me. And then they make me look bad for complaining about my neck hurting. WHICH IT DOES.
Or, even worse, those massive penii who talk FOR the poor pricks and then make you feel really bad for not caring and sending all your possessions to a village in Africa. I'm not going to donate my liver to the AIDS crisis, stop asking me already. Big Issue? No thanks. Giving money to the poor? I'm alright, actually. Texting in to get tickets for a concert to help the Africans. Ok, but just so long as I win the tickets. Because, at the end of the day, what have starving Africans ever done for me? Nothing, except providing me with many hours of quality TV. Why should I listen to Bob Geldof, who really isn't that much of a musician anyway? I shouldn't.
So you're really telling me that the only reasons that I could ever have to feel sorry for myself is if I was a triple amputee, starving, drug addicted moron with no family, no prospects and no food? Fuck off, Geldoff. Man, that is a RHYME.
And as of this moment, I start a new movement: Fuck off, Geldoff. To follow my many other successful movements, it's open to rich, middle class teenagers with no real cares in the world who are sick of being made to feel guilty, just for being rich and middle class. Not sure what this has to do with Geldoff, but I don't like him anyway. In this club, we whine about how bad we have it and we don't feel guilty for doing so. I think I'm on to a winner here.
Do you know, it's so hot in here, that this post has become an incoherent ramble? None of it is making sense to me. I'm hot. LISTEN UP PEOPLE: THIS IS WHAT A RAMBLE LOOKS LIKE, OK? Does anyone care? I don't care. Well, to be honest, I'm sitting here caring more about the fact that I'm melting hot and the end of my tongue hurts (I managed to get it caught in something earlier on... I think it was a stapler) than the fact that 3990202 housewives are committing suicide every day due to something or other, piss off, I'm too hot.
So... hot... where are the starving africans to fan you with palm leaves when you need them?
Ok, now I'm going to go thorugh this post again and correct it. whoopee I jsut spelt thorugh wrong. And again. oh well who craes I'm deleting this bit anyway when I edit it. Whooepeppepeeee. where is everyone? Fuckign Green Day.
And now, just because I'm in a bad mood and feel like a pickmeup:
This is Marios. His blog is http://spaces.msn.com/members/supermario89/PersonalSpace.aspx?_c= . Man, I hate MSN blogs, they have such STUPIDLY long names. "Yeah, my blog is ach-tee-tee-pee-colon-forward-slash-forward-slash-spaces-dot-msn-dot-com-forward-slash-members-forward-slash-supermario-eighty-nine-forward-slash-personal-space-dot-ai-ess-pee-ex-question-mark-bottom-line-thing-c-equals-sign." Microsoft just don't get it.
Yes, I'm a bitch.
HOLY SHIT IT'S ELEVEN ALREADY AND I HAVE MY C2 EXAM TOMORROW. FUCKMONKEYS.
No comments:
Post a Comment