Hurray for guacamole!

Guacamole* is the most delicious thing ever. It really is. It goes with anything. If I could, I would just eat guacamole all day and all night, with everything and on top of everything. I'm not being ironic.** Guacamole really is the tastiest thing ever. For those of you who don't know what guacamole tastes like, just imagine eating your favourite meal. Go on, anything. The tastiest thing you can possibly imagine. Ok, done that? Right, then mentally multiply the deliciousity by about, say, 100,000,000,000. THAT is how tasty guacamole is. Seriously, its delicious.

If I could be any food, do you know what I'd be? Guacamole. Well, thinking about it, NOT guacamole, because it's so delicious that it would soon get eaten by hungry passers by and then I'd cease to be. Instead I'd be something that goes WITH the guacamole, say a piece of steak or a chilli flavoured mexican tortilla chip, so that my last moments on earth could be surrounded in a big bowl of the green stuff. And when I say green stuff, I mean guacamole.

And now, a few words on the HISTORY of guacamole. Seriously, why they don't teach this stuff at school I don't know. Instead I have like four essays on the frickin Nazis to do. What's so impressive about the Nazis? So they nearly wiped out the entire jewish population in Europe? Big woop, there's a lot of difference between NEARLY and COMPLETELY. They just didn't go for that last push to the finish line. Laziness, that's what I call it. I don't see why I should be writing an essay on a lazy regime that wasn't quite prepared to stretch itself to the max to Get the Job Done. Show me a master-race that's successful in totally wiping out an ethnic group, and I'll show you some essays. But I continue:

Guacamole was invented back in 1883 by a poor Mexican family in the town of 'Las Ninas Del Maria Madre De Christo El Hermano del Perro de Franco del Tengo una Bocadilla'. Of course, back then, it was known as guacamole. Fun fact: The mexican family were originally looking for an inexpensive alternative to God, but instead stumbled across the most delicious thing ever. After the initial discovery, guacamole was banned by the British for being just too delicious, so cartels of guacamole dealers were set up all across Southern America, giving it out in teeny-tiny amounts. A mexican would work, picking beans, for years on end, just to save up for a single teaspoon of guacamole. Of course, all this fast-trading of guacamole soon led to the nasty 'Guacamole war' of 1914-18 in Europe. However, once people learnt how to make the delicious guacamole, the guacamole dealers were put out of business and went back to cocaine. Over the years, guacamole has been used in medecines (notably, the infamous 'Grandpa Max's Guacamole Tonic', which was 30% Guacamole and 70% octopus), alcoholic beverages, building materials, as holy water, cut with cocaine and even as a cheap replacement for petrol in Mexican cities. Those crazy Mexicans. In fact, it was once even used to execute an inmate in a prison in Texas. Later, however, guacamole executions were scrapped for budget reasons. A sad day for us all.

More guacamole facts:

• There is a shade of paint known as 'guacamole green'. In fact, the entire sky of the Sistine Chapel Ceiling is in guacamole green. It looks blue because of a clever system of colour contrasts and shadow effects.


• It's a strong aphrodisiac, especially when eaten with seaweed.


• Guacamole is delicious with the following things: Steak, lamb, chips, crisps, pringles... basically anything.


• Good guacamole is always lumpy and chunky, yet still deliciously smooth. A strange paradox, for sure, it's driven many men mad trying to describe its texture.


• Never buy pots of guacamole from supermarkets. Supermarket guacamole contains bleach in an attempt to poison unwary guacamole-addicted Mexicans. And it tastes shit. ALWAYS make it yourself.


• The following bands suck: Snow Patrol, Green Day, and Hard Fi. This has nothing to do with guacamole, but I don't think that anybody's complaining.


• Scientists are unable to class guacamole into a food-group. Is it a dip? Is it a sauce? Is it a complement? Is it a food in its own right? Nobody knows. It's one of the great unanswered mysteries of the universe, along with the Easter Island Sculptures and penguins. Personally, I think that guacamole counts as food in its own right, just because I can imagine myself making a 10 gallon drum of it and then gorging myself until I turn guacamole-green, but then again, there are those who are convinced that it's a paste. Freaks.


• Guacamole actually has nothing to do with guaca moles, which are a small type of underground dwelling rodents that live in southern Bradford.


• In the zombie movie 'Dawn of the Dead', guacamole was used to get the correct blood effect.


• Guacamole is actually the most fat free foodstuff about. No jokes, it has less fat per gram than rice-bread.


• There's a special medical condition for Not Liking Guacamole. It's called Being dead.


• Because of its deliciousness, guacamole is banned in Australia, France, Sweden and New Mexico

My recipe for making guacamole
By now you should be wanting to have some of this delicious stuff yourselves. WELL GUESS WHAT, YOU'RE IN LUCK. Here's my master's guide to making guacamole:

You will need: One avocado, some small tomatoes, an onion, some hot chillis, salt, some pixie dust, and a sharp knife.
1: Peel the avocado. The skin should come off nice and easily. If it doesn't, and if the flesh of the avocado is hard and unyielding, you should get another avocado. If you don't have another avocado, use the crappy one, but be aware that your guacamole might be a touch weird. De-stone the avocado. Wave the knife about and go AYUH, I AM JACKIE CHAN.
2: Slice the onion into itty bitty pieces. Same goes with the tomato and the chillis. Put them to one side.
3: Oh my god, I'm giving out a recipe on my blog. I'm like Jamie Oliver or something. Except without the AIDS.
4: Take your two halves of avocado, then slice them into quarters, then eighths, then sixteenths. Then just chop the shit out of what you have left. The consistency of the avocado should be such that you can slice through with little/no pressure. Some people like to use a food liquidiser to chop up the avocado. These people are stupid. Do not listen to them. Listen to me. For I am the guacamole king.
5: Mix in the onion, tomato and chilli bits. Add a twist of salt.
6: Chop everything together. You should pretty soon get a nice paste. Whatever you do, don't chop too finely. Remember: you should be able to trowel it around with your knife, but it shouldn't be too fine. Chunky is good.
7: Once you're done, eat the guacamole. I prefer to take it into a cupboard and eat it jealously and quickly with my fingers, making sure that nobody is around to steal my precious, precious guacamole, but you could use crisps or something. It's also good with steak.

Hurrah for guacamole!

*Pronounced guacamole.
**If I was being ironic, I'd say something like "Well I sure want to see the new 50 Cent movie, in which I'm sure he gives an amazing performance and is paid a decent amount of money that he fully deserves due to his massive amount of talent" and then I'd laugh heartily and post a picture like this:

But I'm not being ironic. So there was no point in even saying that. Or making that picture.

And now welcome... DJ YEAH!

I was watching Blue Peter today. Not through choice, you see, but because I was waiting for Harold's Half Hour* to come on, and I couldn't leave the room because I was fixing my bike's inner-tube. I realised halfway through that the hole in the inner-tube was impossible to patch up successfully, but I was having so much fun at that point that I just poured a load of the rubber-glue mixture onto it then grated some nice blue chalk and left it at that, but that's a story for another day, possibly after the wheel spectacularily explodes, causing me to head-butt the road**.

Anyway, I was watching Blue Peter, and this little kid comes on and starts 'DJ'ing on some 'decks'. He was really 'throwing down' some 'phat' 'beats'. I truly felt like 'hitting the dancefloor' and 'dancing' to the 'music'. Then after he was finished, the resident Blue Peter twat presenter came on and complimented him for like twenty minutes, before putting on some really rockin' music (no, it wasn't Linkin Park***, it was Old McDonald Had a Farm... not a joke) and mixing really badly for a bit. Well, I say mixing badly as though I have any idea what mixing well sounds like... but I assume that it doesn't sound like that. Then he congratulated this little 8 year old kid on being able to master this skill, then they all waved at the camera and acted really happy.

This annoyed me for several reason. Firstly, the little kid was crappy at DJ ing. I mean, it was just the same sound over and over again. I thought proper DJs did songs and shit, and sing. They don't just make some record go 'yeah wha-' over and over again. That doesn't require skill, just general hand to eye co-ordination. I mean, a guy with no legs could do it, and it's a commonly held fact that the only thing that guys with no legs are good at is keeping doors propped open. And to be honest, no matter how many lame-o little dance moves you do while 'scratching' the 'decks', it doesn't change the fact that all you're doing is moving some bits of plastic back and forth.

Secondly was the way that they all idolised this little kid for being 8 and being able to DJ mediocrely. ONLY EIGHT, AND ALREADY NOT BEING VERY GOOD AT AN URBAN SPORT. The little chap had chosen the name 'DJ YEAH' for himself. Because he's a DJ, and he says 'yeah' a lot, I guess. Woah, man, I just got a headrush from all the originality. DJ Yeah. If I was a DJ I'd call myself DJ Thomas. Or DJ Dinner Jacket. Or DJ Hitler. Or MC Swivel-Post. Or DJ YOUR MUM. Or MC Squared Equals E. Or Archduke Ferdinand. Or even just DJ Dance Music Sucks. But this isn't a post about how much dance music sucks. It's actually a post about how much I dislike talented children.

Immediately after DJ Yeah left they introduced another little kid, some little pikey gyppo waste of space called Callum or something who spent his time boxing and writing poems. He was obviously a few brain cells short of a fully working intelligent brain, but the presenter was all really impressed at his shitty piece of poetry, which sounded something like this:

Different, by some pikey kid
I'm so lonely
Walking along the street people laugh at me
Different different different
Differnet different
I wipe away a tear
I want to be brave
Different different different different
But it's what inside that's important

It went on like this for a while. It was crap. Where's the rhythmic structure? What about the iambic pentameter? I bet if Shakespears was around to listen to this crappy piece of poetry, he'd roll around in his grave. Listen, gypsy-boy, this is not good work. You obviously tried your best, and in the eyes of me, you were found WANTING. Now piss off and make me a martini.

And another thing. If you don't want people to call you a fucking gypsy, DON'T go on Blue Peter talking about how you're a gypsy and how you live in a caravan and how everybody hates you cos you're different. And way to dispell the idea that all gypsies are stupid drunken brawling hippies by conducting your interview:

• Doing situps in the campsite with a bunch of mangy dogs


• Sitting on a manky sofa IN a caravan with an obviously disgusted presenter


• At a boxing club

He was a moron. But what does it matter? He was just a little kid, so everyone was highly impressed at his achievements (joining a boxing club and slaughtering the English language). Why? When you break it down, he wasn't THAT interesting. Like, he wasn't particulary good at boxing, and other than that, his only selling points were that he lived in a caravan and probably stole garden gnomes and set fire to dogs in his spare time. Big woop. I could take up boxing and write a stupid poem if I wanted to. Do you reckon Blue Peter would come and film me? Why, I think NOT. Hey, look at me, I got 9/10 A*s in my GCSEs and I'll probably go on to have a career that isn't working in a junk yard with all the other pikey kids. Gimme a Blue Peter badge. Actually, screw it, I'll just punch my little sister in the head and take hers.

Another example: everyone's always really impressed when babies start talking. I can talk, look at me. Hell, I'm probably much smarter than your baby. And I can run faster than it too. I could probably drop kick it, then run and catch it on the second bounce, that's how much faster I am. I RULE.

Basically, children who display any sort of skill in anything annoy me. Like there's this twat in my year at school who's like the best canoeist in Britain or something. I've never met him, never said a word to him, but I dislike him at a base and elemental level. And those 8 year old twats who spend their childhoods getting top A-levels in things like maths. WELL DONE BOYS, YOU HAVE AN A LEVEL IN THE MOST BORING SUBJECT EVER, NOW YOU CAN GO TO UNIVERSITY EARLY AND NOT BE VERY POPULAR AND NOT HAVE A CHILDHOOD. Rinsed. I guess it's because I'm of the opinion that everybody younger than me should be worse at me at everything. It's like one of those universal facts that I wish was true, just to make the world just that little bit saner. BUT IT NEVER HAPPENS. I can't even fix a damn bike tyre without rubber-moulding my fingers together. I bet there's some 6 year old out there with his own bike-maintenance garage. Well, fuck him. His testicles haven't even dropped yet. AT LEAST I CAN SING TENOR. Well, I can't really, but its within my physical capabilities, right? I don't care.

BUT GOOD NEWS, EVERYBODY: THE NEW BLUE PETER KITTEN HAS DIED IN A MYSTERIOUS AND TRAGIC ACCIDENT. I'm not joking, that actually put a smile on my face when I found out. Am I an evil person? Well I cackled when I found out about Hurricane Rita, so odds are that I am.

*Insert image of a kitten exploding here.

*AKA Neighbours, AKA the best show EVAR, AKA shut up.
**Which, coincidentally, is what happened to my dear matey Oliver. Except apparently 'the back wheel fell off', and instead of just taking the cool manly pain, apparently he whinged about it a lot to his girlfriend and got loads of sympathy. Did I mention that this was the SECOND time in a week that he'd fallen off his bike? What a fucking retard. But we all love you really, Oli. We love you so much. We hope that you and us never has to end. We love you. So much. Mwah mwah mwah baby.
***Come on, this is a KID'S TV SHOW. Do you really want to blow the collective minds of the entire nation by playing Linkin P at teatime?)

This post was brought to you by retarded looking scanned Spider Man:

Ooh, just look at him with his extra chromosone.

Very little of the below post makes much sense. Just accept it and move on with your lives.

The most retarded mascot in the entire world:

Quicky, the Nesquik Bunny



1: Just look at him. What a twat.

2: What kind of crappy name is Quicky? Seriously, who the fuck thought up the name for this thing? I bet whoever it was got paid a suitcase full of money for taking the second syllable of the product and adding a 'y'. Its like those guys who had to come up with a new name for the university in Exeter, got paid £20,000 and came up with "Exeter University" or "The University of Exeter". Except that's the sort of inspired lameness that I can look up to, even admire. Naming your mascot 'Quicky' is not.
A list of other possible names for this cunt:

• Nessie.


• Nesquikky.


• Choco-ricky-quicky.


• Bruce.


• Choco the Bunny.


• Efram the Retarded Rabbit.


• Arnold.

3: I just plain don't like Nestle. And not just because of the accent in the name that means that I can't type it on blogger for fear that it'll end up a big turd of HTML nonsense, but also because apparently they sold poison milk to schoolchildren. Don't get me wrong, I'm all for killing young children. I'm just against their infuriating attempts to re-ingratiate themselves with society.
Nestle, you got caught poisoning african babies, yeah? Yeah? Sure, it was a 'mistake'. I believe you, ok? Stop pretending it didn't happen with your 'Nestle and Africa' Schemes and your charity drives and all your corporate bullshit*. Accept the fact that you're a bunch of murdering cunts - stop trying to be the ex-paedophile at the materinity ward - SOME US STILL REMEMBER YOU AND YOUR CLOWN COSTUME. Don't try and hide your past. Accept it. Run with it. Make a feature of it. Be PROUD of your pro-profit anti-babies nature. Start genocidal programs. Have boxes covers showing Quicky napalming fleeing bushmen. "For ever box of Nesquik you buy, one of our highly trained mercenaries will be able to rape 14 women, ethnically cleanse 4 hamlets and play volleyball with the bodies of 54 murdered babies". It'd please me.** And you could even grind up the dead bodies and make Nesquik Extra (the added ingredient is PEOPLE)- but I think that I've gone too far already. To be honest I probably went too far about ten sentences ago, but then I was hit by my wave of imagination and I just couldn't stop the beat.

4: He's a rabbit. Woah, man, I'm getting a headrush from all the originality that's being THROWN around here. A BROWN rabbit, exactly the same colour as Co-Co Pops Monkey. Did that monkey have a name? Or is he too locked in his eternal battle with the dark forces of Krafty Krok to bother with such things as names? I'm not complaining, there's a certain refreshingness about a monkey with no name. Hey, at least Co-Co Monkey is cool. He has a dangerous edge. I can imagine Co-Co Monkey going rabid and killing a bunch of japanese tourists before being tranquilised and destroyed by park rangers. He has that dangerous side to him. But Quiky the rabbit? He's... a... sodding... RABBIT. God's evolutionary dead end. And not just any rabbit, A BIOLOGICALLY RETARDED RABBIT. He stands up straight. He wears clothes. He probably lives in a REALLY COOL PAD, in dowtown Cerealsville, with all his cereal-mascot friends (crappy ones, like the bee on Honey Nut Cheerios - none of the GOOD mascots like Quicky). He even has fingers. RABBITS DON'T HAVE FINGERS. THEY DON'T HAVE THUMBS EITHER. RABBITS DON'T WEAR CLOTHES. THEY LIVE UNDERGROUND AND EAT THEIR OWN POO.

5: The pitiful attempt to make Quicky*** 'urban' and 'cool', 'in touch with the youthful demographic' with his wearing of 'hip' yellow 'b-ball' clothes, 'wicked' baggy jeans and even the ultimate touch of wicked negro-related style- a BASEBALL CAP ON BACKWARDS. Yes, you heard me. That backwards baseball hat says it all. This is a rabbit who don't take no shit from no-one. With his hat backwards he'll really take any of you down a peg for messin' with his flooow.
This really pisses me off. Lame corporate raping of youthful subcultures, taking only the most superfluous aspects and then brutally exploiting them until it no longer becomes cool and in fact becomes embarassing. I bet if you asked Quiky what music he likes he'd say 'rock n roll'. AND THEN THEY'D PICTURE HIM WITH A GUITAR, JUST TO FUCK UP ANOTHER THING THAT HAD TO TAKE ITS SWEET TIME TO BE COOL. "I'm Quiky****, I listen to non-threatening girly rock like BUSTED or MCFLY or GREEN DAY!"
Man I'd like to play Quicky a bit of LINKIN PARK. The L-Pizzle boys would seriously BLOW HIS PUNY MIND. Some of the rockin' links those LP Boyz throw down... man, the lyrics of 'One Step Closer' made me rethink my life, put down the bottle of aspirin and get a job as a full time rocker. And it's not just being able to PLAY the music, Quikky. That means nothing. It's knowing WHY IT NEEDS TO BE PLAYED. That's what Linkin Park have got down: they know that we NEED them to just break the contraints of our meaninglessly corporate society, and so they play their delicious blend of nu-gritty-grindhouse-rock-with-occasional-ghetto-beats-from-the-main-man-Jay-Zee day in and day out. They rock night and day so we don't have to. And yet, here's some shitty little rabbit demeaning and crapping all over that. SHAME ON YOU, QUIKY. YOU SUCK.

There. Quikky, you have been well and truly PWNED!

Wow, I just wasted 45 minutes rinsing a cartoon bunny. Good job I don't have an English Literature essay on how Bram Stoker achieves tension in chapters 1-4 of Dracula to do, eh?

*Oh man, the corporations, man, they're EVERYWHERE, man. I'll be forced to listen to some Linkin Park just to get the stink of authoritarian conformism out of my skin pores. REBELLION FOREVER!
**Thinking about it, I'd probably not be, but it WOULD be refreshing to have a large company blowing up infants and generally being dastardly.
***That's actually painful to type. DAMN YOU NESQUIK.
****Quicky, Quiky, Quikky, I don't care. It's all just minorly different strains of the same bacterial colon-infection of a mascot.

Clutch, brake, accelerator, roadkill

I had my first driving lesson on Friday. Wow. What an experience. Now you know me, I'm not one to big myself up or overexaggerate my many good points. That's just not me, I'm more of the humble stock. Like Jesus. Yes, I guess you could say that I'm quite a lot like Jesus. Except without the whole 'nailed to a bit of wood like a fish' thing. That I can do without. That said... I'm so shiznitching good at driving. I totally rule the mofoing road, with my skillz at indicating and, like, not stalling. Yes, you heard me, an entire two hours long driving lesson COMPLETED without stalling the car ONCE. That's pretty good. I bet that most of the learner drivers can't even get INTO the car without crashing into a lamppost, knocking themselves out and ending up comatose in the middle of the road. But not me. I was cruisin' down that avenue in my nice yellow car, waving at passers by, carefully avoiding crashing into the kerb, being respectful to the other road users and generally being THE PIMP DADDY.

I mean, I was a little nervous when I saw the driving instructor for the first time. Not due to any weakness on my behalf, but the fact that the instructor was a WOMAN. A woman - like a man but with extra woe. So I was fully expecting a lesson full of checking my makeup in the mirror, driving about with the handbrake on, stopping every twenty minutes to ask directions, and random (sticky) outbursts of hormonal behaviour. Thankfully, this woman was fairly manly in her teaching approach, keeping her female ways to herself until I was out of the car, when she probably burst into tears for no reason whatsoever then knitted a baby-gro.

So after going through the 'give me the cheque' lesson, the cockpit check (making sure the door is shut properly, seat adjustment, mirror adjustments, locations of hidden missile firing unit and ejector seat, battering ram adjustment, seatbelt) the points systems of driving (normal pedestrians 10 pts, old people, children, dogs and prams 20 pts a piece, wheelchair users 50 pts, lamp-posts and kerbs -10 pts, immobile objects -40 pts, with additional points being given on a sliding scale of property to car damage scale), how to turn the wheel correctly (apparently there's a system, which I naturally mastered immediately), what the various pedals do, and how to get the best reception of driving music on the radio, we HIT THE ROAD.

I pulled away from the pavement FLAWLESSLY. No kidding, it was like me and that pavement were born to be apart. I indicated like a pro. Then I hit the gas and accelerated rapidly.

That was when the trouble began.

Zooming up the road at a blistering speed of about 8mph, I was chased down by some other woman in a car behind me who apparently was displeased at having to go so bloody slow. She was truly throwing off my concentratoin, so I tested out the the car's rear-mounted stinger missile launcher and blew apart her car, before skillfully switching gear into reverse and running over her badly burnt body with the spiked wheels of my YELLOW MG ROVER. Then a bunch of ninjas leapt at me from the pavement so I switched into 1st again and managed to cross a junction. The ninjas, following me, were all hit by various cars and fell into comas. At this point the police, sirens screaming, tore round the corner, firing madly at me. 'OMG OMG!" screamed the female instructor, crying into her hands. "Don't worry baby" I replied, and put on some manly driving sunglasses. I hit the pedals, going all the way into SECOND GEAR. Tearing down the street, with the police in full persuit, I suddenly saw my next obstacle: A SPEED BUMP. "Oh shiiiiiiiit" I said in slow motion, then cunningly shifted my feet off the accelerator just as I approached the bump to sail over it brilliantly. The policeman, not seeing my perfect driving, hit the bump and was thrown 60 feet into the air. I instantaneously hit the 'mortar' button on the dashboard and blew him into SMITHEREENS, then zoomed off at a face-melting 20mph, before pulling to a stop with a bit of a bump. Memo to self: work on braking.

The Instructress was highly impressed at my skillz* and told me that I'd pass my driving lesson first time and that I would soon be The Best Driver In The World Ever. I'm not exaggerating, that's what she said. I was like 'Well, all four of my grandparents were spies for the government who spent their early years as Hollywood stunt drivers' and she was like 'Well that explains it... you're my hero' and I was like 'Wel thanks baby-pie, you're not the first person to say that' then she fainted in her female way, so I was forced to drive all the way home, occasionally having high speed races with truck drivers who objected to me repeatedly ramming them for being in my way.

Man I can't wait until I pass my driving lesson. There'll be so much stuff I can DO. Here's just a small selection of possible activities:

• Get to places that woulda taken ages to walk really quickly. Try as I might, I can't get that sentence to sound right. Oh well.


• Park badly to annoy people in wheelchairs.


• Drive about with the roof down, playing Simon and Garfunkel to the masses from my massive 8980GHZ-bass subwoofers welded to the boot.


• Lose my girlfriend in a tragic drag-racing competition. Then drive all the way up to Heaven to drag race-Jesus to get her back.


• Follow joggers along the street, honking my horn and yelling 'Run faster you brigand!' or 'Come on, I want to FEEL THE PAIN!'


• Pull into the drive thru** at McDonalds, and then when they ask me what I want to eat, make them tell me the whole menu, then ask if they have any nice stew, and then say 'no thanks I'll just make some guacamole at home' then DRIVE OFF CACKLING MADLY.


• Drive around tooting my horn at attractive postboxes.


• Pimp my ride by adding, like, pictures of Ant-Man to the side or, like, 'VOTE PEDRO' as the license plate. OOOH, or REALLY BIG WHEELS. WITH SMILEY FACE HUBS. That'd be sweeeeeeeeeeeet.


• Make a nuisance of myself.


• Never walk again.


• Buy a novelty horn that plays the solo from 'Sweet Child Of Mine".


• Perform drive-bys against rival gang-leaders... I'll fill their pesky bodies with lead for messing with my jazz. That'll show em.


• Buy some driving gloves and a nice leather hat.


• Grow a driving mustache.


• Perform drive-buys against rival gang leaders... I'll drive past and buy things off them, then pay in CHANGE.


• Burn my bicycle.


• Turn up the parties in my car, then roll down the window and say "Hey, ladies, check out my steez pimpmobile" to whoever happens to be outside the house.


• Offer people lifts home from parties then drive off at 12.20 without them, leaving them stranded in some godawful shithole in the middle of Egham with no real way of getting home, meaning that they're forced to phone their parents and
  wait on the freezing street corner for 20 fucking minutes... except that would be a really shitty thing to do, wouldn't it OLIVER? Sod.

Of course, in order to pull off all these objectives, I'll need a really pimpin' ride. I don't think that a Ford MG Rover really cuts the mustard, to be honest. I've drawn up a rough blueprint of what I'll be expecting. Now, be aware, this is only a rough picture, but I think that it gets the message across quite well:



Look at that, man, that's just so FIIIIIIIIINE. Even the dog is impressed. Of course, the horse would have lots of hidden features, like a sprinkler system and, uh, the ability to fly. And seatbelts. No point in compromising on the safety.

VROOOOOOM!

*I wonder if I've ever actually typed skillz without the z on the end. This might become a permanent feature of my english usage, like my sarcastic american pronounciation of 'tomato' has actually become my natural way of saying it. Damn you, George Bush. You hate pronounciation. And black people. Big up Kanye West.
**Through. THROUGH. HOW HARD IS IT?

BEHOLD! The consequences of rowing...

Seriously, hands shouldn't look like that. See that black stuff on my thumb*? That's not dirt. That's rubber that's like been burned on there by the shitty low-quality oars I was left using today. RUBBER. They look like the floor of a fucking tyre show. A tyre show that took place in a building with central-heating to just below the melting point of rubber. A building that had sandpaper instead of carpet YOU GET WHAT I MEAN? RUBBERY. Euck. And it's really burnt in there... all my rigorous self-cleansing regimes did NOTHING to shift it.

So far this week I've had a grand total of TEN BLISTERS.
TEN. THATS LIKE THE NUMBER OF CROSSES THAT JESUS WAS STAPLED TO, BUT WITH NINE EXTRA.

NINE. THATS LIKE THE NUMBER OF SKYSCRAPERS THAT FELL OVER ON 9/11**... but FOUR TIMES THE NUMBER. THEN WITH ONE EXTRA.

ONE. THATS LIKE THE NUMBER OF GONADS IN LANCE ARMSTRONG.*** The sheer amounts of pus that have leaked out of my body... it's truly umpleasant. Then I bite off the spare bit of skin and eat it. Mmm. Don't you just want to punch me in the mouth with a piece of concrete?

And you know what? I can't even quit rowing now. The boatie coach randomly went up to me today and said "Well I'm impressed with your ergo times and I think that if you work hard you might get a place in the first 8 next year."

Omg. Omg. OMG. OH MY GOD. DID YOU HEAR WHAT HE SAID? THE FIRST EIGHT. THE FIRST FUCKING EIGHT. This is like the most important moment of my life... shit, man. Thanks. That's really something to look forward to. The 1st 8... that really would be a prestigious achievement. I mean, just imagine me in the 1st 8. Wowzers. I can't imagine a higher honour. Even being elected King Of The Entire Planet... shit, compared to getting into the 1st 8 and getting a natty white hoodie. The 1st 8... I'm truly not worthy. But yes, I'll work my damndest until next year so that I TOO can be a possible member of the FIRST 8. YES MAN. YOU HEARD ME. THE FIRST EIGHT. WOAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.

[/irony off]

So that means that He Has An Eye On Me. So I can't just randomly quit when it loses its fun value. I'M TRAPPED. YET AGAIN, I'M TRAPPED. CUNTS. To be honest, I was never going to quit rowing anyway. If I was to quit it, I'd have nothing to whinge about. I'd get fat and sweaty in like a week and a half. And I WOULD PROBABLY MISS THE DAMN SPORT. THAT'S WHATS UNFAIR. I HATE IT, YET I KNOW THAT I WOULD BE REALLY SAD IF I LEFT IT. KIND OF LIKE ME AND LINKIN PARK. IF LINKIN PARK EVER LEFT MY LIFE, MAN, I'D BE CRYING MY EYES OUT LIKE THE GOTH-PUNK-ROCK-METAL-EMO-KING-OF-ROCKYROLL I AM. But seriously, it was just nice to imagine an easy life... a life in which I could go home when the school governors decided it was prudent to... a life when I could sleep in on Saturdays and drink copious amounts of alkeyhol on Fridays... actually screw it I'm gonna drink anyway, I don't care what the coaches say... a life when I didn't have to wear tight lycra that gives me really odd tan-lines... a life when I didn't have to listen to DJ FUCKING SAMI EVERY TEN MINUTES. I really hate rave music.

Mm, lycra.

I think the 'I'm gonna quit at the end of this week' mentality was more of a placebo. Yes, I just said placebo. Like a drunkard saying "I can stop this boozing time I want"... or a smoker saying "FINE THEN I'LL QUIT AND SAVE YOUR PRECIOUS LITTLE 5 YEAR OLD LUNGS". Or an Oli G (manliest man... I don't think that I reiterate this point enough) saying "ok, I'll only sleep with HALF of this class of sexually promiscuous 16 year olds". Or Ogg saying "Ok guys, two more weeks then I'll tell her that I'm only going out with her for a bet". I'M NEVER GOING TO QUIT ROWING BUT I'M ALWAYS GOING TO WANT TO.

DAMN YOU, ROWING. DAMN YOU TO HELL.

*Yes, this IS a scan of my hand. So for all you internet perverts out there, this at least proves that I am a white-boy, floury, cracker, wigro, pop n fresh, slavedriving, Colonel Sanders, white-bread, wifro, milk-skinned, sausagemeat, albino, Santa's Beard, lily-lad, orgen, cookie-dough, white-choclolate, pretty-fly-for-a-white-guy, chickenliver, icy-fresh snow-boy, angelic KKK honkey little motherfucker. So that's nice, homies.
**Technically, it should be 11/9. 9/11... what kind of retarded way of writing dates is that? What happened on the 9th of December that year? Anything good? Morons. With time-keeping skills like that, it's no wonder your buildings kept falling over.
***Gonads gonads gonads gonads gonads GONADS.

I have two little men sitting on my shoulders

Well, not really. Why the hell would I want two little midgets sitting on my shoulders? I mean, midgets are small but they're not small enough to perch on my shoulders. Many of them are fat little fuckers.* To be honest, even with my pure amounts of manliness, I would still be unable to live my daily life or, indeed, stand up straight, under the midget-weight. So I'm lying. There aren't REALLY two little men sitting on my shoulders. It's all just a long complicated over-exaggerated metaphor. But what's wrong with metaphors? They give English examination markers orgasms to read them. And I know about that, with my rather sexy 195/200 in English Literature. So let's just talk metaphorically for a second here.

So, I have two metaphorical little men sitting on my shoulders.

One of these lil men is dressed entirely in white. A nice little white robe. With a halo. A halo made out of tinsel.*** And he has a pair of wings stapled to his back. Metaphorical wings. And where did the metaphorical feathers for these metaphorical wings come from? Condors. All in all, 34 condors were shot with tranqualisers, allowed to re-awaken, then ruthlessly killed and plucked to make the wings of my metaphorical midget's wings. This midget is playing the air harp badly, and whispering things in my ear.

The other tiny tim is dressed entirely in RED. RED LYCRA. METAPHORICAL RED LYCRA. He has a little pitchfork and a little pair of horns on his head (taken from a really endangered sort of gnu). There's a teeny little red tail sticking out of his ass-area (midgets don't have real asses... all the food they eat is just transformed into other midgets****). He is cackling madly and stroking his little midget chin with his pitchfork, as he can't reach with his midget arms, and whispering things in my ear.

What does the white midget whisper in my ear?
Blog, my son. You know it's right. There are losers out there who hang on your every word... don't let them down. Give them your half-baked opinions. Make a crappy photoshop picture. Bash out a critique of a well known celebrity. Swear a lot... make fun of those Hurrican Victims... it'll make you feel better... After all, how are people going to click on the top blog button and make your blog the TOP ONE IN THE ENTIRE WORLD if you don't update?
And what does the little evil midget whisper in my ear?
Don't blog now. You have a girlfriend... you no longer NEED the internet to make people pay attention to you... you're not one of these losers now... Hurricane Katrina wasn't that funny... (I love how the evil midget is championing the moral cause) ... Don't blog... just go to bed... sleep... DON'T BLOG... NOBODY CARES ANYWAY!

And man, that was one titanic battle of wits between good and evil, light and dark, caucasian and african, the dark side and the jedi, the hippies and the goths, the chavs and the... non chavs... but eventually the light side won. I HAVE DECIDED TO BLOG. And brilliantly, in this case, my entire pointless metaphorical discussion of whether or not to blog has taken up most of the post. Smooth, me. Round of applause? Yes please. Now, I needed a subject to blog about. I couldn't just write a 1,126 word post about not blogging and failing to think of an idea. That would be POINTLESSLY post-ironic. And if there is one thing that I AM NOT it is post-ironic. A boatie? Yes. Retarded? Yes. A midget? Yes. Nazi supporter? Yes. Post-ironic? NO. So I needed a subject, quick.

I couldn't think of one, so decided to just write the damn post anyway and hope that something would pop into my head as I was doing so. If all else failed I could talk about NOTHING for 500 words and give it up as a bad blog (now post-ironic, just a waste of time). Hell, if even that failed I could photoshop a shitty picture of a kitten being blown up and pass it off as modern art. Or just recycle an old one and hope that nobody noticed.

I got this far, and I couldn't think of anything, but here were some possible topics that could have been discussed:

What is the random see-through crap that's oozing from the hole in my foot? I couldn't decide whether it was pus, lymph, or just really retarded blood? A quick MSN vote proved that it was pus, clear victor over lymph and blood with a score of 3-1-1. So good.
Does pus porn exist somewhere on the internet? My partner in crime said it did, but then it turned out that she was too much of a cowardly birch-tree to actually look it up. So the task falls to me. Apparently 'pus' porn doesn't come up with anything. So I decided to search for 'pussy' (the state of being full of pus). 8,630,000 results... you sickos.
If you have sex with an adult retard, does it count as child molestation?
Is paper-cutting the head of your own erect penis possibly the most painful thing that could possibly happen to you... ever?
Do I really look like the Angel of Death in my ultra-swish BLACK SHIRT?
Why can't I find it in my heart to quit rowing?
Who cares what the fucking meaning of life is?
Is the Dairylea Big Cheez Dippaz advert the most manly thing ever?
Do midgets love? Current research into midgets has placed them at roughly the evolutionary level of a virus - they don't possess all 7 signs of life, and often reproduce by attaching themselves to a fatter person, burrowing inside, then multiplying at a massive rate and bursting out through the gonads. Gonads gonads gonads.
Why is Maddox so shit now?
Swearing: too much or too little?
Why Spooks is just a crappy english ripoff of 24?

Does this count as blogging yet? Well, fuck you, that's all you're getting.



*Their dreams of Olympic High-Jump gold shattered, they just settled down for a life of watching Tots TV on little tiny tv screens and eating their own body weights in chocolate**
**And due to the theory of infinite, as with every bite of chocolate they ate with their tiny little mouths increased their bodyweights just a little bit, they continued to eat the chocolate until the end of time or until they exploded in little midget blasts of little midget bones that often result in the fatalities of real people standing nearby. Or at least their shinbones being shattered.
***Silver tinsel
****Every twenty minutes or so, midgets spontaneously divide in two to form perfect copies of each other. This is known as 'midgeitosis'.

I'm going to blog one of these days

I swear I am.

I just can't muster up the energy.

I'm going through life in an exhausted haze, to be honest. How many days have I been back at school? Two, isn't it? Christ.

I hate rowing.

Oh well, here's a picture of Marios looking cute. I'm of the opinion that this picture doesn't get put on the internet enough.



Sorry.

It's religion Wednesday!

In which I look up random verses from the Bible and make fun of them.

Nehemiah ch.8 vs9: And Nehemiah, which is the Tirshatha, and Ezra the priest the scribe, and the Levites that taught the people, said unto all the people, this day is holy unto the LORD your God; mourn not, nor weep. For all the people wept, when the heard the word of the law.

Now I'm no big city sociologist, but I'd think that if your law causes everybody to burst into tears, it's probably not a very good one. Like that stupid 'no marrying your own cousins' law they had in Scotland that time and then all the townspeople rioted and burned the chief judge ALIVE in a giant wicker giant. When was that, ten years go? And they've never had a dumbass law like that since. I wonder... is burning at the stake* permitted by God? Let's ask THE BIBLE!

Judges ch.20 vs48: And the men of Israel turned again upon the Children of Benjamin, and smote them with the edge of the sword, as well the men of every city, as the beast, and all that came to hand: also they set on fire all the cities that they came to.

So basically, burning at the stake and sword stabbery seems to be A-OK by god, just so long as the person you're burning at the stake happens to be a city in the way of your armies, or the kid of somebody called Benjamin. So that's another moral dilemma solved using the power of The Bible.



If you have a moral/ethical dilemma that needs a bit of godly help, please tell me and I'll waste more time and insult the holy text a bit more. And give you the answer - straight from God's textbook to your computer. Mwahah.

*Mmm... steak.

Music (part 2)

YOU FUCKING CUNT, BLOGGER, I TYPE FOR TEN MINUTES AND THEN YOU ERASE IT, I HATE YOU. You know who I blame? John Ritter. Cunt.

Warning: The following post will contain swearing.

Anyway, here's the second part of the shit-music post. I would have given you a list of who had previously been on the list, but I did that already and I'll be damned if I'm typing it out again. Just re-read the first part.

Two things to bear in mind when reading this list:

1: Well, I'm an organised guy. So before I even started the 'music' thing, I carefully wrote down my top 20 list on a piece of paper. I then lost the paper after writing numbers 20-11. Then, in my attempts to remember the last ten numbers, I thought up another load of musical things that pissed me off. So then I came up with another list. Then I found the first one again. So I combined the two and came up with a 'top 10' list that actually has far more than 10 items. But fuck it, I'm a rebel who doesn't follow the rules anyway. Screw you guys.
2: Seeing the massive fanbase response after the drunken birthday post, I've decided not to type this post drunk. However, I have decided to, you know, SPICE THIS BLOG UP just a bit, by setting myself a side-challenge. Yes, you guessed it, I'm gonna try to drink a two litre bottle of Sainsbury's Caledonian Sparkling Natural Mineral Water* in ONE SITTING. Using A WINE GLASS. Now, you may think that this isn't THAT outrageous, but you would be wrong. For some reason, the Sainsbury's Caledonian Sparkling Natural Mineral Water is pumped full of the most burning C02 ever to grace bottled water. It's actually painful to drink. But, hey, at least it's not going to kill me, like it did that kid who tried the 'consuming a bottle of bleach while blogging' plan. That's one of the good points of water - it's non toxic.



Neato**. So far, I'm on three glasses consumed, due to the fact that blogger erased this entire fucking post. Time for a fourth. Bartender, water me! Oh, wait, it's just me. A-ha. ON WITH THE LIST:

10: Dead rappers releasing songs
Now, forgive me. It's been a while since I've been down in the hood with my homebodies but... I thought the reason that rapperz killed each other was to stop each other producing songs. And I'm no biologist, but Id've thought that the whole 'being dead' would be detrimental to your rap career. That's just me, perhaps the rest of you have some better ideas on the whole 'death' idea. But suddenly it seems that the only way to get a number 1 hit is to be dead.
And apparently death suddenly makes your music really good. Like that Six-pack fellow who died for some reason, then had ELTON JOHN sing on his crappy song. Do you really think that Elton would've done his piano thang if Eight-track had still been alive? Why I think NOT! In fact, it seems to me that nowadays, the ONLY way to get Elton to play us some music is to kill off a celebrity. Doesn't even have to be a major celebrity (like Diana 'Car Crash' Princess of Wales). Fuck, I bet that it wouldn't have to be a minor celebrity. That guy who used to present Holiday*** would do. Twat. Man, the more I think about it, the less this seems to be about dead rappers releasing songs. Or music for that matter. In fact, it reminds me of the creepy way that Americans elevate their dead to saintly levels. This then reminded me of small time american comedian John Ritter who fell over dead a few years go, and the amusing way that fans on his messageboard kept going on about him. So I went onto the messageboard to see if I could wind them up. This caused my computer to crash. So I retyped this post again up to this point, saved it, went onto the Ritter message board and clicked on the first thing I saw. THIS IS WHAT I GOT, SOME BULLSHIT FROM SOME MORON:

I don't have anyone in my life that I could look up to. So I look up to John. There aren't a lot of people in this world like John, and when they die, it hurts those who loved them.

Morons. You know why there aren't many people in the world exactly like John Ritter? Because JOHN RITTER IS DEAD, and this post has already gone so wildly off topic, I might as well change it to "I hate long dead american comedians"... christ...
Fucking John Ritter, I blame you.

Good news, everyone, I just finished my fourth glass of water, AND I DON'T EVEN NEED TO PEE YET. Fucking hell, I'm only on number 10. I've been typing for like 45 minutes now. Gay.

9: Young singers
They just annoy me. Lil Bow-Bang, uh, Jo-Jo, that girl Annie from that film of the same name****, Hilary Duff, Lindsey Lohan. Perhaps I'm just jealous. Nah. To be honest, I hate seeing children on tv doing exciting things. I'm of the opinion that all children should be slightly cynical cunts like me. Anybody who hasn't been crushed by the moronity of the adult world yet deserves a soul-crushing. Sooner better than later*****.
AND WHAT ABOUT THOSE TWATS IN S-CLUB 8. I hope they all get addicted to coke and die. This is a fairly sincere wish.



What is this? The minority circus?^ These guys are all twats. Especially that guy on the far left. STOP WITH THAT SEMI-MOODY EXPRESSION, I CAN'T WAIT UNTIL YOUR FIFTEEN MINUTES IS UP AND YOU REALISE THAT YOU HAVE NO GCSES AND NO PROSPECTS AND YOU END UP WORKING IN WAITROSE YOU LITTLE SHIT.
To be honest, I just don't like children, period. And I think that I'm still technically one of them. Does 17 count as a child? I don't care.

Another glass of water (5) down. I'm also needing the toilet now. Damn you, bladder.

8.5: Jamie Cullen
I don't know, I just find him annoying. And nearly every girl I know likes him, which is reason enough for me to put him in this list. To be honest, he was originally meant to go in at 9.5, but I kind of missed him, and I'll be damned if I'm breaking up the flow-of-consciousness style of this post.

8: Solo female singers
Don't get me wrong, I'm not a sexist. I'm sure that females have a lot of important roles in society^^... but to be honest, singing doesn't seem to work for me. Every (and I mean EVERY) female singer today makes me want to set fire to something. I don't know why, but off the top of my head, I can name a good few who I'd like to nail.... gun: Britney Spears, Charlotte Church, Ashlee Simpson, Natasha Beddingfield, Avril Latrine, Gwen Stefani, Ashlee Simpson's sister, Kylie Minogue, Danni Minogue, six glasses of water drunk, Misee Elliot, Miss Dynamite, uh,Christina Aguilariaia, Tina Turner, Micheal Jackson, Janet Jackson, Jennifer Lopez^^^, Alanis Morrisette, the woman who did the Titanic soundtrack... that's just off the top of my head. The ones in bold are ones for whom I have particular venom. Beetches. But I dislike all of them pretty intensely.
I dunno why, all female singers just seem to go on about how super it is to have a vagina and how all men are crappy and how rock n roll they all really are. They all just annoy me.
But don't worry, women, I hate solo male singers just as much. It's just, you know, they're male, which immediately pushes them above and beyond this list. La La.

7.5: Craig David
Come on. Just look at him.



Other than the fact that he looks, acts, dances, dresses and SINGS like a woman, he constantly has a gay little beard (bum fluff) around his mouth. It's as though Craig David is trying to balance out the average gay-values of black music by being extra gay to make up for the homophobia of a lot of ghetto music. Well done, there, Craig. Pity that everyone hates you. And when I say everyone, I mean me.

Seven glasses of water down.

7: Linkin Park
I have a think called the 'rebellious index' in my head, right? Now, every time I see a rebellious thing (graffiti, vandalism, violent revolution, baseball cap turned round backwards, Offspring hoodie) I give it a number of 'Rebellious points'. Right. And if you COMBINE two rebellious things (for example, wearing jeans with ripped knee-fabric WHILE beating a policeman to death), the points aren't added together. Oh no. THEY'RE MULTIPLIED. You get me?
But here's the problem with rebellion - if the number of rebellious points in any one event get too high then the pure amounts of teenage angsty rebellion will rip a hole in the fabric of society and cause a full on cultural revolution in which everybody plays by their own rules and the man is well and truly destroyed. Now, you know me. I'm a total urban street fighting PUNK. If anybody wants the end of society as we know it, it's me. Linked with my legendary love of Linkin Park, it would seem to be KRAZY for me to insult Linkin Park (or, as we true fans call them, the LP boyz).
But the thing is... the rebellion of Linkin Park is just TOO WILD. I mean, listening to the LP Boyz actually has more rebellious points than the cuban, american AND french revolutions put together. Just combining 'listening to the LP Boyz' with a mid-level rebellious item (for example, a Che Guevara t-shirt or poster) and the resulting amount of rebellion released would cause even the laws of physics to fail. Atoms would refuse to do as they're told... gravity would go and be moody by itself.
THE WORLD WOULD BE DESTROYED. This Linkin Park is just TOO dark. They will end up destroying THE ENTIRE PLANET.

6: Not the Pixies
The Pixies fucking rule. They are the most awesome band ever. I want Debaser played at my funeral^^^^. Everything about this band is awesome and, therefore, pretty much anything that's not the Pixies is not awesome, and thus shit. That's all I'm saying on this subject.

I also just finished another glass of water. Boo-ya. What's that now? 7? Or 8? Eight. Wicked.

5.5: The Sound Of Music
I don't mean the actual sound of music (as in... the sound. Of music). No, I mean the musical. Usually, as a rule I don't like musicals. But for some reason, I especially hate this one. I don't know why. Well, actually I do know why. There was a TV show about Britain's favourite movies on 4 last night, and The Sound Of Music was the 2nd most popular film of all time in Britain. It showed some footage of some twats in a movie watching the film. It was a bunch of wanky students who all started singing along. Seriously, they were so into it, they were leaping about, dancing and singing, standing up and waving around their hands.

Losers.

I decided that anything that musical that has so many people acting like twats deserves a special place on this list. And even a picture. This picture is devoted not only to Julie Andrews, but also to anyone who has at any point sung along to The Sound of Music:



Thank you. And I just drank my 9th glass of water. The hills are alive with my manly ways, bitches.

5: 'Artists'
I'm pretty sure that I was bitching about this a few months ago, but it bears repeating: When did everybody start calling musicians 'artists'? I don't get it. They're not artists. They're musicians. Most of them. They sing. Occasionally, they pretend to play the guitar to heighten their cool points. But not artists. This seems to be stroking their egos a touch. Ok, a lot. And then, you start calling them artists, you know what the next logical step is? They start calling their songs 'art'. Listen, Jackson, I may have liked the Alien Ant Farm cover of Smooth Criminal (ooh, that reminds me; lame cover versions would have gone into this list, but I really can't be arsed to do ANOTHER point, so just imagine one at around 6.5), but that doesn't turn your back catalogue into the Louvre.
I'm sick of singers who think that they're the best thing since sliced bread (which is crap, by the way), divas who make outrageous demands, and multi-billionaires who've decided that they need to validate their fucking bank accounts by referring to the half-hearted dribble they produce as art. They should place every 'artist' at the top of the Niagra falls then set fire to them so the only way they can put themselves out is to jump into the waterfall, so they die anyway. Win win situation, really. NEXT!

Oh my god. I just finished my 10th glass of water, thereby ending the bottle of water. Wow.^^^

4.5: J-Lo
No, I'm not referring to you as "Jennifer Lopez". I don't care that you've realised that J-Lo sounds like a type of toilet cleaner, that's the name that you've forged for yourself, you anorexic bitch, and that's the name that you're gonna be stuck with. Man I hate J-Lo.
She's spoilt, has no talent (come on, shut up), and has fallen for the Will Smith disease - constantly trying to reaffirm the fact that she's still 'down there' with her audience when she has quite plainly not stepped on an actual road for several years. Still Jenny from the block? Yeah right, and I'm still the polish concentration-camp survivor I was seventeen years ago. SHUT UP THAT DIDN'T EVEN MAKE ANY SENSE. You can't 'still be Jenny from the block' if you get carried about everywhere and have your own line of furs. I'm glad Gigli failed. I hope it turns out that your perfumes give people skin cancer. Basically, it seems that the only service J-Lo has done for the world is to take down Ben Affleck. Good for her.
JLO has ceased being a musician - she's not a musician, she's EVERYTHING. She's her own corporation. This is depressing to the extreme that such a cunt should be such a popular singer... she isn't a musician, people... real musicians CARE about their art. Real musicians give EVERYTHING to their music. What if music was banned tomorrow? Would JLO even give a shit? I think NOT.

4: Pop Idol
I hate Pop Idol. That's all there is to it. You want a decent overview of how terrible Pop Idol is? Just watch it on tv. In fact, DON'T. If enough people fail to watch it then it won't get another series. Just take my word for it... Pop Idol is the worst thing to happen to music since Hitler rose from the dead and ate James Brown's face.

3: Urban music
I don't like urban music. I don't like the music, I don't like the musicians, I don't like the bands, I don't even like the name of the genre. Since when did urban mean black? I was under the impression that it was to do with cities. So unless white people have suddenly been banned from living in cities for some reason, I incite you to shut up and stop butchering the english language with your annoying buzz-words.

R&B sucks.
Ghetto sucks.
Hip-Hop sucks.
Rap sucks.
Kanye West sucks.
50 Cent is an asshole.
If you can't spell your name correctly, you don't deserve to be a musician.

I know that it's probably in bad taste to stike off entire genres of music, but I believe that, as Ghandi once said:
I don't care... I fucking hate urban music.
Thanks Ghandi!
That's OK, Tom!

2: Remixed music
What's that? I think I feel a flashback coming on to a past time in my blog...

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).

Couldn't have put it any better myself. Oh wait, I already did. And I know that that's about rave music, not remixes, but that's basically all I wanted to say, and I can't be fagged to think of anything else. If you REALLY want to defend lame remixes of things, just listen to Crazy Frog on loop for a few solid years.

1: Wanky girlrock bands
There are too many wanky girlrock bands out there. Now, I know that the word 'girlrock' could be seen as confusing for some of the retards out there, but be aware that when I use it, I do NOT mean female rock and roll bands (ie. The Donnas and, uh, The... Spice Girls?). NO. I mean the shitty semi-rock bands who play crappy acoustic versions of everything, sing whiny lyrics about non-rocking things and, to be honest, contribute nothing to the general rock n roll ethos of the day. For example, Goo-Goo Dolls, The Ataris, Muse, McFly, Keane, Coldplay... etc. These guys have pioneered a new version of rock and roll - rock and roll with no balls. They go on about their emotions and how much they love their girlfriends and how much they want to get married. Hell, this should be called, like, emotional rock or emo or something and should be riteously reviled as the shitty practise it is.
Seriously, THESE GUYS are the reason that rock has become such a fucking degraded form of music in recent years. Rock used to mean something, you know?^^^^^ It was living close to the edge; getting stoned and cracked every night; performing totally smashed*. It was truly not following any of the rulez. And now look at it. Rock is fast becoming lame. The original fore-founders of rock* worked long and hard to give it it's cool dues, and now the modern music and entertainment media have attached a hosepipe to their collosus and are sucking it dry. You now have rock and roll two year olds. Rock n roll barbies. Rock n roll cartoon characters. Every fucking band with a guitar is now described as a rock star. All these new solo singers are desperately trying to stylise themselves as 'rockers', what with their ripped clothes and their longish dyed hair and their small tatoos. They sing moody sounding songs with videos with everyone dancing around factories, spray painting things and doing that sign of the devil thing. They writhe about clutching electric guitars that they don't have the slightest clue how to play. Wow.
NEWSFLASH, BITCHES, YOU ARE NOT ROCK AND ROLL. IT DOESN'T MATTER HOW YOU DRESS. NONE OF YOU ARE ROCK AND ROLL. YOUR SONGS ARE NOT ROCK AND ROLL. YOU GO TO BED AT 11 EVERY NIGHT. YOU DON'T DRINK. YOU EAT GRANARY BARS. YOU WRITE SONGS ABOUT HOW MUCH YOU LOVE YOUR GIRLFRIEND. YOU THINK THAT DRUGS ARE FOR LOSERS. CBBC APPROVES OF YOU. YOUR MUSIC VIDEOS ARE FULLY ANIMATED. YOU PROBABLY STILL WET THE BEDS. NOW FUCK OFF AND LISTEN TO ASHLEE SIMPSON.
Booooooooooooooo. I'm not joking, the only current young 'rock star' I can think of is Pete Doherty, and that's only because the modern tabloid newspapers all hate him. Good, that means that at least he's doing SOMETHING right.
The rest of them... christ. These cunts are killing rock. Fuck it, they're killing music. Why couldn't you guys bastardise R&B? But no. You have to sink your hooks into rock.
I HATE YOU.

Well, there you go. It's been a journey. To be honest, Wanky Girlrock Bands weren't my number 1 item, but I just can't bear the thought of more typing. So... I guess that it'll forever be a mystery, eh, kitten? Oh yeah, and comment. I don't do this for my own amusement. Well I do. And also vote me top blog. The little brown box. I'll be fucked if Bored on the Beach wins again.

*Drawn from the Campsie Fells, Lennoxtown - where the good water comes from! Etc.
**NB: The water bottle shown in the picture is not actually a bottle of Sainsbury's Caledonian Sparkling Natural Mineral Water.* It is only used for display purposes. Sainsbury's Caledonian Sparkling Natural Mineral Water* is actually in a much bigger looking bottle which is impossible to find anywhere on the internet.
***This reminds me of a totally unrelated joke from the Edinbururururugh Sideburn Festival. It was told by some comedians or other, and hey, it made me laugh: The dodo died. Then Dodi died, Di died and Dando died... Dido must be shitting herself. Well, it's kind of amusing.
****I hate this girl with a passion.
*****Yes, man, I was raised on the STREETS. I know how the world workz, kk?
^This was not a racist comment. I do not believe that minorities belong in circuses. Circuses? Circii? Whatever. Except perhaps for those disabled kids with the bulging eyeballs. Cool man.
^^Cooking, cleaning, shopping, sewing, birthing the babies, feeding the babies, changing the babies, babysitting for the babies of other men, holding the cards that show us which round it is in boxing, making cars look appealing in adverts, tending to the menfolk, bikini models, acting as impromptu draught excluders, milking the sheep, providing something to do at night, as eye candy, baking, and as bargaining material when the chief of the next camp over is threatening war.
^^^But more on her later...
^^^^This is not a joke. Could somebody please tell my parents?
^^^^^As you can tell, I am a hardcore rock and roll megastar... I KNOW what I'm talking about, bitches.
^Shall I reveal that I had a two hour break while writing this, during which time I went to the toilet twice? No, I shan't.
*For some reason, I can really respect somebody doing something under the influence of alcohol. Anything suddenly gains a cool value with alcohol. "Yeah, we did that maths competition" - loserish. "Yeah, we did that maths competition completely plastered" - cool and funny, in my opinion. But I only got 9A*s at GCSE. What do I know, other than EVERYTHING?
**Known as the 'founding rock-daddies' to the hardcore fans, like me. Man I'm hardcore.

IT WAS MY BIRTHDAY (now with extra bunnies)

I was 17. I actually got some rather sickhead stuff from my amigos, which is a change from all the random shit I usually get. Particularly impressive was the massive pirate hat from Lucia, and the utterly supoib* spiderman who threw huge red balls at things from Steve... odd. And Fati's sword. By the way, this still doesn't mean that I'm getting any of you anything good for your respective birthdays. And I still want to be invited to the parties.^

And now for a long blog about my birthday party. Well, it all began when I woke up at 8AM (in the morning). I was feeling good, and so I decided to get up and go downstairs to open my presents. And so For fuck's sake, I really have no will to blog about my birthday at all. So instead I'm going to just make a random picture on photoshop and you can ENJOY IT.

...

In fact, I'm not even going to do THAT. Instead, here's the snotty remnants of a blog idea I had back in February but then gave up on for being shit: A DRAWING COMPETITION! Yes, I told everybody** to draw me a picture of A BUNNY. WITH A CHAINSAW. I mean, woah man. I wonder what sort of wild and crazy things my fanbase came up with? I just wonder... oh wait, no, here they are. By the way, I wouldn't get your hopes up. Most of these are the artistic equivalents of crashing headfirst into a brick wall at 500mph.

8 Bunnies***
(Arranged in order of shitness, from utterly shit to slightly less shit)

Roxy

Seriously man, wtf? I doubt that Roxy honestly put 100% effort into this assignment. I fail to see a bunny. Or a chainsaw. The words 'Bunny die' scrawled across it do NOTHING to disguise the shitty microsoft paint nature of this abomnation. WHY IS THERE AN ANUS IN THE MIDDLE OF IT?
To be brutally honest, this is shit. And it looks like somebody peed all over it. Roxy, I award you 0 marks. Now fuck off.

Paul

Well, at least this one had a rabbit of some sort in it. Ableit, one with CDs for eyeballs. And disturbingly long legs. And, you know, that COULD be a chainsaw. Or a really crappy flamethrower. To be honest, I don't know. I just don't know. I mean, looking at it, you can nearly pretend that it wasn't scribbled in two minutes on a pad of paper in the middle of the Tate modern.
No, you can't. Paul, this is very unimpressive. In fact, it's so unimpressive, I was forced to print it out, douse it with petrol, then use it to set fire to an innocent passing sheep.

Steve

I can see that some serious effort has gone into THIS masterpiece. That doesn't change how utterly shit it is, though. I mean, seriously, what the fuck? You take the time to carefully draw in all the floorboards to the correct perspective, add a nice red rope around the picture, then fail to do the chainsaw bunny? What are you, retarded? Or are you trying to be all cleverly post-modern and ironic here?
Oh, yeah, like, man... its a picture of a CHAINSAW BUNNY, but at the same time, it's like, you know... it's NOT because it's like, you know, just the words and... YOU SUCK.
I award you 0 marks out of 10. FAILURE, STEVE, FAILURE.

Kris

Hehehhehehe. Look, it has a little flower and everything. Aww.

Emma

I'm generally opposed to Emma just to be awkward, but hey, at least this one is coloured in. On the other hand, there is no chainsaw. And I doubt that she did it herself. To be honest, I'm kind of losing interest in this entire idea. But hey, at least I'm not blogging about hurricane Katrina. OMOMGOMGOMOGMOGOGG HE MADE A KATRINA JOKE OMG OMGOMGOMG LOLZ NO WAIT THATS WAFUL DO YOU WKNO HOW MANY PEOPLE WERE KILLED THEN THE SUPERDOME CAUGHT FIRE OMG.?:?>DSFSDLFJL :D :D:D:D
Hurricane Katrina sucks. I don't care that New Orleans got flooded. Just send a load of sharks in there with cameras attached to their heads and put it on TV. Now that would be some good viewin', right there. See, within seconds, I turn a tragedy into a money-spinning venture. I rule.

Cassie

Christ, EFFORT, Cassandra. And don't pretend to not care about your bunny. Your careful use of the word 'damn' doesn't trick me for a second. I think that the sexual chemistry in this picture speaks for itself. Notice the lustful expression in that bunny's eyes. That is one turned on lapin. Still, for being the first person to actually produce a rabbit with a chainsaw and colouring it in, Cassie does win some points. And I DO like the chainsaw ears. That's evolution, right there. But on the other hand, how does the bunny hear anything? What if it wants to listen to the smooth rapping sounds of First Blood?

Fati

Awesome, man. Just awesome. This is ART. It has it all - bunny, chainsaw, ultraviolence. Wow, just... wow. And do you like the expression on that bunny's face? That is one mean delicious chocolatey treat. That is the Evil Dead 2 of chocolate. And I love the way that the bang on the door man is totally eviscerated... he totally deserves it, cunt. Fati, I SALUTE YOU.
But it's still not as good as our final entry, a picture so amazing in it's skills and so brilliant in its creation that the person who drew it needs to be annointed as King of the entire planet ASAP.

Me

YES, IT WAS BY ME. Well, it's my blog, how can I not win? But just look at the attributes that this picture has. It's in moody black and white, therefore winning it many points for stylistic artistic integrity. It has a bunny AND a chainsaw. And, oh my god, the levels of photoshopping excellence that went into making this picture... Christ, I'm so alone.

Pretty soon I'm jumping the shark.****

*Read: Shit and random, yet oddly cool
^I am a rewarding friend like that.
**Read: Everyone who happened to be on msn at the tiem
***Like 12 Monkeys, except without Brad Pitt. Or any monkeys.
****I hate you all.

ITS MY BIRTHDAY

im kinda drunk..sdlafjlksdajf
hahhahahahhahahahah

eerything is funny today

:D

FATI SAYS: hlelo im not drunk yet


oh m god im so sorry, my yping skills seem to have sissoloved with age.

WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO FATI SAW THAT PICTURE

MWAH

EDIT: I AM STILL DRUNK

I GOT RINSED ON BORED ON THE BEACH. OOH.

YOU LOT... SUCK. AND IM DRUNK.