Just a short one, this is a genuine interchange, unedited (aside for structure). I'm in blue, she's in orange.
"the UK is a broke shithole whos economy is in the toilet, and australia is a economic masterpiece whos dollar is worth more than the US$, with jobs a plenty, sun silked beaches, crystal blue water and amazing people
please dont refer to australia as ANYTHING close to the UK"
"We put you on the other side of the planet for a reason, sweetheart."
"haha the uk founded australia, and now has fuckall to do with it"
"Who would want to?"
"lol, the 18 million english who apply for a visa every year and get knocked back maybe? should not of sent your convicts to paradise :)
dont try to get into a debate with me about which country is better ull lose because u can see on every news stand and every website in the world europes economy is screwed england is broke the worlds falling apart
and australia is one of the only countries doing well"
"It's not like you can get much worse than convict-run shithole, and actually, your economy has been fucked for years, that, and the UK isn't involved in the European economy, so I guess your average intelligence isn't too grand either.
Also, there are just over 60 million people living in the UK, 1 in 3 do not apply for Australia, so you are also bullshit merchants, although that is hardly news.
So I guess I did just debate.
And I guess I won too.
A little like the ashes.
Thats right, sports too."
Unfortunately, she didn't reply.
Wednesday 28 December 2011
Saturday 24 December 2011
What a merry old twat I am.
Ok, so basically I've been palming off writing a new blog post for two reasons. One, because I can't be bothered sometimes, I have to be in a kind of writing mood to actually put pen to paper, or fingers to keys as it were.
The second reason, is the perhaps more embarrassing one that an IT consultant had forgotten both his login details and which e-mail account he used. Now this could be excused if I had, say, five or six e-mails, but the amount of e-mail addresses I use settle somewhere in the region between 1 and 3.
Now, the more sharp minded of you might have raised an eyebrow at such a ridiculous mishap, but it can be understood with the simplest of statements: I have been very stoned for the last week or so. I'm talking like two joints and a bong a day stoned, so while not completely dead, I've been in a comfy haze.
This came about because I quit my job a little while ago. My last shift was the 15th, so I woke up on the 16th (my birthday) free as a bird, which was possibly the best present I could have hoped for.
Oh yeah, I have a new job starting on the 1st of Jan, or at least that's when my contract begins. Better pay, better prospects and much better hours.
But the thing is, I had, and to be honest, still have, bugger all to do with my time. My lovely girlfriend is busy working, my flatmate working, and my other friend's home for the festivities, so with nothing to do and no-one to do it with, I may as well piss it away in a haze.
I figured I could be all creative and make some awesome music, but I'll be honest, drugs don't make music better. For all of the songs The Beatles wrote under the influence, every acid-induced ballad that came from Pink Floyd, were fine tuned and honed by groups of very sober writers and producers.
There are only so many sounds you can make with a guitar, or a keyboard or whatevs without effects. An electric guitar is just strings until you put it into an amp, and no-one listens to lyrics that intently anymore, you just need to look to Tinie Tempah for evidence of that ("I've got so many clothes I keep them at my aunt's house" is a personal favorite. Also, that is in context, it's a self contained sentence in the song).
As it turns out, I'm not a world famous singer, so I'm stuck trying to produce my own stuff, and while under the influence, it sounded awesome, but then again, whipped cream in mashed potato tasted awesome, so I can hardly be a judge of good quality when I'm baked.
The result was... interesting. It gave me a good insight into my stoned mind. The tracks all had an airy feeling and harmonized fine, that is to say, the notes all sat well with each other, but there was no structure, just... sound, fucking everywhere. I would get up in the morning to look at what I had made and just put my head in my hands looking at the jumbled mess that lay before me on the screen. It took me a good solid hour to put this into some basic format, but this one is called Daisy, and it's the only track that survived the purge:
http://www.jmmltd.com/Daisy.mp3
So yeah, it's a mess, essentially. This is what happens when a producer gets too stoned and tries to produce his own track, it's a mess.
Production, you see, isn't a case of being inventive or creative as much as it is precision engineering sound. Think of it as musical lego. If you asked someone caned and someone sober to build a house from lego, no doubt the sober person would make a solid house with doors and windows, and the caned person would make some mad creation, but who the fuck wants a house that breaks down the walls of perception? I want my damn walls to stay up, thanks, it's winter.
Anyway, that was a strained metaphor, as is the case with the majority of all my hypotheticals.
This being said, I'm not against drugs, so commence phase part déux of this blog, why marijuana should be legalised, and actively encouraged.
This, by the way, goes to both the needlessly restrained arseholes AND the douchebag potheads that support the legalisation. The reason for this, which is something that should be applied to ALL debates, is that it isn't a game of sides. This isn't sport, this isn't football, there are valid arguments on both sides.
I really want to segue onto politics here, but I shall restrain myself.
Firstly, this is a fact - weed is less damaging to the human body and mind than alcohol, and in itself as a substance, has precisely zero addictive qualities, being as addictive as, say, a carrot. You can find your own references for this, as this isn't a journal. Either take my word for it, or research it if you don't believe me.
So, it's less damaging to the system than alcohol. Which is legal. Now, you can't have one legal without the other one, so you have a choice, logically, to either ban both, or legalise both.
Now, the government gets a lot of it's funding from taxation of luxury goods, and even more with alcohol, so we won't see any bans on that any time soon. We enjoy alcohol, most of us in moderation. I was having a birthday lunch with my girlfriend and I made the point that while alcohol was freely available at any time of day, even then in working hours, nobody around was drunk, or at least excessively.
This shows we have restraint, we (mostly) understand our responsibilities and thus respect them. No-one was rowdy, getting into fights, throwing up, fucking on my meatballs (to be fair it was a small plate). We had the choice to get fucked up, but people chose to be responsible. Every. Last. One.
So this instantly negates the claim that if it was legal, people would just sit at home all day doing nothing being stoned. Bullshit. I smoke regularly and I'm currently under contract for an £18k job that will grow to £25k in 6 months. I both finish all my work, meet friends and pay rent. I have no criminal record.
The people who are potheads? Well you can abuse ANY substance. On Jeremy Kyle there was a woman who huffs like 5, 6 cans of butane a day. If people want to rely on something, they will find it.
Moving on, picture a Saturday night out on the lash on your standard high street. Drunk people screaming, singing, police presence, belligerence, all of this due to alcohol, a legal substance encouraged. Violent crimes committed all the damn time. I've even done a few myself. I can testify that alcohol can make you violent and act without any care to other people. I've even driven drunk, numerous times, because when drunk I think I'm invincible.
Let me put this simply - Alcohol turns otherwise nice people into complete cunts.
An evening out on weed? There isn't such a thing. You smoke weed, you just want to relax, talk, play games, watch a movie, just anything chilled. Fight? You're not fighting anyone, you love everything and you can't be bothered to move.
Now why is that illegal? At what point does that begin to make sense? So I'm allowed to drink copious amounts that cause me to go mental and act like a dick, but I'm not allowed to smoke alone or with friends and just relax?
Violent crime would drop in a damn instant.
And think of the money the country could be making! It's insane, if we regulated and taxed weed for it to be readily available, then think of all this extra income, think of the jobs, think of how much the youth of today would love you. We are all going to smoke anyway, with or without your approval.
It makes ZERO sense, not just to me, but at all in any form of logic, that marijuana is illegal. It is both detrimental to society and the economy.
Until you have smoked weed, you cannot judge. It is the definition of now knowing what you're talking about. You are not the authority on this subject. I am.
So shut up, and take a lungful of this. It might not broaden your mind, but hopefully it'll shut you the fuck up.
The second reason, is the perhaps more embarrassing one that an IT consultant had forgotten both his login details and which e-mail account he used. Now this could be excused if I had, say, five or six e-mails, but the amount of e-mail addresses I use settle somewhere in the region between 1 and 3.
Now, the more sharp minded of you might have raised an eyebrow at such a ridiculous mishap, but it can be understood with the simplest of statements: I have been very stoned for the last week or so. I'm talking like two joints and a bong a day stoned, so while not completely dead, I've been in a comfy haze.
This came about because I quit my job a little while ago. My last shift was the 15th, so I woke up on the 16th (my birthday) free as a bird, which was possibly the best present I could have hoped for.
Oh yeah, I have a new job starting on the 1st of Jan, or at least that's when my contract begins. Better pay, better prospects and much better hours.
But the thing is, I had, and to be honest, still have, bugger all to do with my time. My lovely girlfriend is busy working, my flatmate working, and my other friend's home for the festivities, so with nothing to do and no-one to do it with, I may as well piss it away in a haze.
I figured I could be all creative and make some awesome music, but I'll be honest, drugs don't make music better. For all of the songs The Beatles wrote under the influence, every acid-induced ballad that came from Pink Floyd, were fine tuned and honed by groups of very sober writers and producers.
There are only so many sounds you can make with a guitar, or a keyboard or whatevs without effects. An electric guitar is just strings until you put it into an amp, and no-one listens to lyrics that intently anymore, you just need to look to Tinie Tempah for evidence of that ("I've got so many clothes I keep them at my aunt's house" is a personal favorite. Also, that is in context, it's a self contained sentence in the song).
As it turns out, I'm not a world famous singer, so I'm stuck trying to produce my own stuff, and while under the influence, it sounded awesome, but then again, whipped cream in mashed potato tasted awesome, so I can hardly be a judge of good quality when I'm baked.
The result was... interesting. It gave me a good insight into my stoned mind. The tracks all had an airy feeling and harmonized fine, that is to say, the notes all sat well with each other, but there was no structure, just... sound, fucking everywhere. I would get up in the morning to look at what I had made and just put my head in my hands looking at the jumbled mess that lay before me on the screen. It took me a good solid hour to put this into some basic format, but this one is called Daisy, and it's the only track that survived the purge:
http://www.jmmltd.com/Daisy.mp3
So yeah, it's a mess, essentially. This is what happens when a producer gets too stoned and tries to produce his own track, it's a mess.
Production, you see, isn't a case of being inventive or creative as much as it is precision engineering sound. Think of it as musical lego. If you asked someone caned and someone sober to build a house from lego, no doubt the sober person would make a solid house with doors and windows, and the caned person would make some mad creation, but who the fuck wants a house that breaks down the walls of perception? I want my damn walls to stay up, thanks, it's winter.
Anyway, that was a strained metaphor, as is the case with the majority of all my hypotheticals.
This being said, I'm not against drugs, so commence phase part déux of this blog, why marijuana should be legalised, and actively encouraged.
This, by the way, goes to both the needlessly restrained arseholes AND the douchebag potheads that support the legalisation. The reason for this, which is something that should be applied to ALL debates, is that it isn't a game of sides. This isn't sport, this isn't football, there are valid arguments on both sides.
I really want to segue onto politics here, but I shall restrain myself.
Firstly, this is a fact - weed is less damaging to the human body and mind than alcohol, and in itself as a substance, has precisely zero addictive qualities, being as addictive as, say, a carrot. You can find your own references for this, as this isn't a journal. Either take my word for it, or research it if you don't believe me.
So, it's less damaging to the system than alcohol. Which is legal. Now, you can't have one legal without the other one, so you have a choice, logically, to either ban both, or legalise both.
Now, the government gets a lot of it's funding from taxation of luxury goods, and even more with alcohol, so we won't see any bans on that any time soon. We enjoy alcohol, most of us in moderation. I was having a birthday lunch with my girlfriend and I made the point that while alcohol was freely available at any time of day, even then in working hours, nobody around was drunk, or at least excessively.
This shows we have restraint, we (mostly) understand our responsibilities and thus respect them. No-one was rowdy, getting into fights, throwing up, fucking on my meatballs (to be fair it was a small plate). We had the choice to get fucked up, but people chose to be responsible. Every. Last. One.
So this instantly negates the claim that if it was legal, people would just sit at home all day doing nothing being stoned. Bullshit. I smoke regularly and I'm currently under contract for an £18k job that will grow to £25k in 6 months. I both finish all my work, meet friends and pay rent. I have no criminal record.
The people who are potheads? Well you can abuse ANY substance. On Jeremy Kyle there was a woman who huffs like 5, 6 cans of butane a day. If people want to rely on something, they will find it.
Moving on, picture a Saturday night out on the lash on your standard high street. Drunk people screaming, singing, police presence, belligerence, all of this due to alcohol, a legal substance encouraged. Violent crimes committed all the damn time. I've even done a few myself. I can testify that alcohol can make you violent and act without any care to other people. I've even driven drunk, numerous times, because when drunk I think I'm invincible.
Let me put this simply - Alcohol turns otherwise nice people into complete cunts.
An evening out on weed? There isn't such a thing. You smoke weed, you just want to relax, talk, play games, watch a movie, just anything chilled. Fight? You're not fighting anyone, you love everything and you can't be bothered to move.
Now why is that illegal? At what point does that begin to make sense? So I'm allowed to drink copious amounts that cause me to go mental and act like a dick, but I'm not allowed to smoke alone or with friends and just relax?
Violent crime would drop in a damn instant.
And think of the money the country could be making! It's insane, if we regulated and taxed weed for it to be readily available, then think of all this extra income, think of the jobs, think of how much the youth of today would love you. We are all going to smoke anyway, with or without your approval.
It makes ZERO sense, not just to me, but at all in any form of logic, that marijuana is illegal. It is both detrimental to society and the economy.
Until you have smoked weed, you cannot judge. It is the definition of now knowing what you're talking about. You are not the authority on this subject. I am.
So shut up, and take a lungful of this. It might not broaden your mind, but hopefully it'll shut you the fuck up.
Friday 2 December 2011
Hey, dishwasher; shut the fuck up.
I live in a world filled with like a million and one different gadgets, all of which make a point of trying to grab my attention with stupid fucking noises.
Now, I can kind of understand this with like, say, a phone call, a real human on the other side of the line clamoring for my attention in their time of need, but today I noticed that apparently my dishwasher thinks I need to prioritise my time of porn and computer games underneath unloading the dishwasher.
Now, I don't have many friends so it isn't that hard to imagine my dishwasher has more plans than me, but is there a dinner party I wasn't aware of? Do I need to stuff a turkey and lay a table? Or get a table to lay, whatever, I'm a 22 year old man, the only things we care about on four legs can walk upright on two and make a mean sandwich.
If this isn't the case, then WHY WON'T YOU SHUT THE FUCK UP? It keeps beeping like every 10 minutes and really fucking loud too, I can hear it from my bedroom, where I am now, because like all men with days off in their twenties I spend it all on the internet. You're not my fucking mother, why do you insist on demanding I unload you?
Either technology is specifically being designed to be annoying as all hell or Skynet has become self aware. POP CULTURE REFERENCE LOL!
That gets me thinking, the hell is up with pop-culture references being the basis for all humour on television nowadays? Have we really run out of ideas? The only laughs to be gotten are from recognising the fact that other people have watched the same shit that you have. I'm unaware of why that is funny, unless you are Abed from Community, in which case continue because you are AWESOME.
People spend a lot of time bitching about re-runs on television, so why do we enjoy crappy re-enactments of catch phrases in other shows? It's like a perpetual sink-hole of parrot like repetition which gets up my pee-hole to no end.
Although, admittedly, things seem to get up my pee-hole rather easily. No homo.
Anyway, I have to leave for work in an hour and a half, so I'm getting my ass to the golden arches to get me a double cheese and diet coke, because find me another place you can get a decent burger and drink for £2.50.
And if you can, shut the fuck up, because I'm never wrong and you always are.
PEACE!
Now, I can kind of understand this with like, say, a phone call, a real human on the other side of the line clamoring for my attention in their time of need, but today I noticed that apparently my dishwasher thinks I need to prioritise my time of porn and computer games underneath unloading the dishwasher.
Now, I don't have many friends so it isn't that hard to imagine my dishwasher has more plans than me, but is there a dinner party I wasn't aware of? Do I need to stuff a turkey and lay a table? Or get a table to lay, whatever, I'm a 22 year old man, the only things we care about on four legs can walk upright on two and make a mean sandwich.
If this isn't the case, then WHY WON'T YOU SHUT THE FUCK UP? It keeps beeping like every 10 minutes and really fucking loud too, I can hear it from my bedroom, where I am now, because like all men with days off in their twenties I spend it all on the internet. You're not my fucking mother, why do you insist on demanding I unload you?
Either technology is specifically being designed to be annoying as all hell or Skynet has become self aware. POP CULTURE REFERENCE LOL!
That gets me thinking, the hell is up with pop-culture references being the basis for all humour on television nowadays? Have we really run out of ideas? The only laughs to be gotten are from recognising the fact that other people have watched the same shit that you have. I'm unaware of why that is funny, unless you are Abed from Community, in which case continue because you are AWESOME.
People spend a lot of time bitching about re-runs on television, so why do we enjoy crappy re-enactments of catch phrases in other shows? It's like a perpetual sink-hole of parrot like repetition which gets up my pee-hole to no end.
Although, admittedly, things seem to get up my pee-hole rather easily. No homo.
Anyway, I have to leave for work in an hour and a half, so I'm getting my ass to the golden arches to get me a double cheese and diet coke, because find me another place you can get a decent burger and drink for £2.50.
And if you can, shut the fuck up, because I'm never wrong and you always are.
PEACE!
The devil makes work for idle something or other.
Let's get this out of the way - I can be a very lazy man. I spend my days off in my pajamas (yes I have jammies, fuck you) until like 2pm where I have a half hour bath and smoke perhaps a little too much weed. My work is easy if a little tedious, and after both the trained baristas left work, I'm the most experienced coffee genie in the whole damn place.
What I'm saying is, I can press the fuck out of the 'coffee' button on the machine.
So my life is easy, money can be a little tight, but I'm 22 a year out of University and living away from home. That's a big step for me, my brother lived at home until he was 26. Essentially I'm saying I'm better than you.
However, as I mentioned, two of the bar staff have left, leaving just me (which would technically have made me the worst barista, but fuck you, coffee isn't my life), and as a result, my schedule next week is CRAZY.
Put it this way, I'm used to working the or four evening shifts a week, ranging between five and six hours, so that's, what, like twenty hours? I now have three morning shifts of seven hours, and two evening shifts of around six. Add onto that a day in London on Monday, full on 9-5 plus the commute, a job interview, I'm cat-sitting for the week AND my girlfriend is coming down.
Oh, and of course all my contract IT work.
You see, I get a lot of stick for how easy my life is, but the work I do, and I mean IT work because any fucking monkey can make a coffee, is work that only I can do. My flatmate often ridicules me for how ridiculous my IT pay is (£25 an hour thank you very much) but motherfucker, I earned that wage. I was a chubby nerd who was taught Pascal Programming at 10 years old, builind my own computer at 14 (well I had help but bitch, I bought the parts) and teaching myself both Flash, Photoshop and Dreamweaver at the same age.
When a laptop fucks up, an xbox won't connect, hell, a DVD player breaks down, I'm the one that gets the call. Did I mention I used to build my own circuit boards and design my own microchip programming? No? Well fuck you, I did, so show me a broken circuit board and I'll tell you what's wrong with it and how to go about fixing it, except I wont, because I can't be bothered.
But next week I am MAD busy, and I'm really, really, REALLY looking forward to it.
Having alone time is great, you know? But you only appreciate it when you spend most of your time around other people. I spend a lot of time around myself, and who can blame me, I'm awesome, but next week I'm actually needed. No other bar-staff, an interview with just me and literally a blank piece of paper to find me a place in the company (did I not mention that fact? I'm not going for a role, a set job, they are literally going to figure out where they want me, not IF. Pow).
I'm going to be dead by the end, but every day I get to come home to the lady, who I haven't seen in a while, and I cannot stress just how much I'm looking forward to this.
Then the money, I can get out of debt, I can stop stressing, I can be happy, and I have a cat again to hang about (side note: I still really miss my cat and think about him every day) and it's like a holiday to me.
So here's my final thought of this entry. What is a holiday? Is it a beach, a relaxing moment? Or is it living your life on the other side of the rails so you appreciate what you have?
Surely you should live in what makes you happy, and indulge in stress for a few moments in your life to appreciate what you have, than suffer a world of stress to have a few fleeting moments to remind you what you don't.
Sensei out.
What I'm saying is, I can press the fuck out of the 'coffee' button on the machine.
So my life is easy, money can be a little tight, but I'm 22 a year out of University and living away from home. That's a big step for me, my brother lived at home until he was 26. Essentially I'm saying I'm better than you.
However, as I mentioned, two of the bar staff have left, leaving just me (which would technically have made me the worst barista, but fuck you, coffee isn't my life), and as a result, my schedule next week is CRAZY.
Put it this way, I'm used to working the or four evening shifts a week, ranging between five and six hours, so that's, what, like twenty hours? I now have three morning shifts of seven hours, and two evening shifts of around six. Add onto that a day in London on Monday, full on 9-5 plus the commute, a job interview, I'm cat-sitting for the week AND my girlfriend is coming down.
Oh, and of course all my contract IT work.
You see, I get a lot of stick for how easy my life is, but the work I do, and I mean IT work because any fucking monkey can make a coffee, is work that only I can do. My flatmate often ridicules me for how ridiculous my IT pay is (£25 an hour thank you very much) but motherfucker, I earned that wage. I was a chubby nerd who was taught Pascal Programming at 10 years old, builind my own computer at 14 (well I had help but bitch, I bought the parts) and teaching myself both Flash, Photoshop and Dreamweaver at the same age.
When a laptop fucks up, an xbox won't connect, hell, a DVD player breaks down, I'm the one that gets the call. Did I mention I used to build my own circuit boards and design my own microchip programming? No? Well fuck you, I did, so show me a broken circuit board and I'll tell you what's wrong with it and how to go about fixing it, except I wont, because I can't be bothered.
But next week I am MAD busy, and I'm really, really, REALLY looking forward to it.
Having alone time is great, you know? But you only appreciate it when you spend most of your time around other people. I spend a lot of time around myself, and who can blame me, I'm awesome, but next week I'm actually needed. No other bar-staff, an interview with just me and literally a blank piece of paper to find me a place in the company (did I not mention that fact? I'm not going for a role, a set job, they are literally going to figure out where they want me, not IF. Pow).
I'm going to be dead by the end, but every day I get to come home to the lady, who I haven't seen in a while, and I cannot stress just how much I'm looking forward to this.
Then the money, I can get out of debt, I can stop stressing, I can be happy, and I have a cat again to hang about (side note: I still really miss my cat and think about him every day) and it's like a holiday to me.
So here's my final thought of this entry. What is a holiday? Is it a beach, a relaxing moment? Or is it living your life on the other side of the rails so you appreciate what you have?
Surely you should live in what makes you happy, and indulge in stress for a few moments in your life to appreciate what you have, than suffer a world of stress to have a few fleeting moments to remind you what you don't.
Sensei out.
Relationships are hard fucking work.
So I've been officially with my lady friend for around 4 months now officially (and by that I mean it's on Facebook, which is apparently law over all these kind of things) and I was seeing her for about two months before that. I think we can safely say the honeymoon period is over.
What makes this worse is, we're still as strong as the day we met, which tells me that, "holy shit, this is the one!"
Rejoice, right? Fuck no, she's the best thing that has ever happened to me. Do you know how many girls I've dated and told I've loved? ALL OF THEM. The thing is, to me at the time, it seemed like the natural progression of things, you know? When you're a kid, it's not like you can move in or get married, so there are really only three steps, first kiss, first fuck, first time saying those words.
I'll let you into a little secret about me. From a young age, around 11, I was always aware at how muted I can feel to certain things. It had played on my mind for a long, long time, and as you can imagine, this stuff messes with a young mind.
My brother's friend, who at the time was graduating from a psych major, focusing on young men and gaming, told my brother he was afraid I might be border-line emotionally retarded.
Now, if I could punch someone in the face for every time a psych major thought they were fucking Freud (which in itself is perhaps a Freudian concept depending on how you read that sentence you sick fuck. He's dead, that's illegal) then I'd be Bruce Willis at the end of Sin City. If you don't get what that means, go YouTube "Sin City: Take Away the Weapons". I'll wait.
Thing is, this kinda rang true. When my Dad had a heart attack, I watched the ambulance go without feeling anything at all, when my Mum went in to surgery to have a tumor removed, nothing. People kept trying to comfort me but I didn't feel a single damn thing.
As I grew up, I later discovered that I'm not emotionally retarded, but I'm just a typical male taken to extremes who bottles everything up. Weeks, maybe months after events happen, I would break down screaming, or someone would trigger it and I would lose all consciousness for a handful of minutes where I go into a violent rage.
The point is, I never felt anything until the crisis point, a breakup for instance, or a punch, or a particularly cutting line (like being accused of not caring that my Dad had a heart attack). When I tell people of these stories, they tend to take them as stories, or find them funny, even attempting to instigate one of these violent episodes, that is, until they experience them.
In my last year of uni, one of my housemates drove 100 miles home literally a couple of minutes after I exploded at him, punching holes in walls while my knuckles ran with blood screaming in his face. A few months later, a friend drunkenly started pushing and hitting me in a club to try and trigger the reaction, immediately being punched in the throat, thrown to the floor and pinned down with my foot.
My issues are not a joke, they're not stories, they are warnings. Joke with me, whatever, but do not fuck with me. I do not find it funny, and neither will you.
However, recently, it's been changing. I don't feel the rage building, but more I feel sadness. My cat died recently, after 20 years of life. He was my best friend in the whole damn world, that little furry fucker. He would sit on my bed for hours watching me on the PC, every now and then climbing on the very desk I use now and sleeping between my arms.
I'm not ashamed to admit that I have cried in excess of ten times thinking about him since his death. I'm not talking merely tears, but full on nervous breakdowns, unable to think for the gut-wrenching pain of loss.
I talk openly to my girl about these things, when I'm upset, I tell her. I have a vent, a way to explain myself without being judged.
I still have moments where I want to hit someone so hard the police can track my fingerprints on their face's, but they are more measured, more rational. She listens, she helps me feel less of a freak, and a little more human.
I have a lot of problems, some that nobody knows about and probably never will, but so does everyone else. All of these perceptions have been opened to me by this one, amazing person. I feel every emotion that was suppressed by years of computer games.
You see, the hard work isn't because she's hard work to be with, it's because I can't even conceive a world without her. She has made my life so much better and she will never even realise why, which is a good thing. The last thing I ever want her to see are my problems first hand, because they are scary and people are terrified by me after they happen.
She makes me so much better, and I feel bad acknowledging that, fuck, I need this girl. I rely on her far more than she relies on me. It's a little difficult to deal with sometimes, knowing I need her more than she needs me, but there it is.
Sometimes, just sometimes, hard work is worth it.
What makes this worse is, we're still as strong as the day we met, which tells me that, "holy shit, this is the one!"
Rejoice, right? Fuck no, she's the best thing that has ever happened to me. Do you know how many girls I've dated and told I've loved? ALL OF THEM. The thing is, to me at the time, it seemed like the natural progression of things, you know? When you're a kid, it's not like you can move in or get married, so there are really only three steps, first kiss, first fuck, first time saying those words.
I'll let you into a little secret about me. From a young age, around 11, I was always aware at how muted I can feel to certain things. It had played on my mind for a long, long time, and as you can imagine, this stuff messes with a young mind.
My brother's friend, who at the time was graduating from a psych major, focusing on young men and gaming, told my brother he was afraid I might be border-line emotionally retarded.
Now, if I could punch someone in the face for every time a psych major thought they were fucking Freud (which in itself is perhaps a Freudian concept depending on how you read that sentence you sick fuck. He's dead, that's illegal) then I'd be Bruce Willis at the end of Sin City. If you don't get what that means, go YouTube "Sin City: Take Away the Weapons". I'll wait.
Thing is, this kinda rang true. When my Dad had a heart attack, I watched the ambulance go without feeling anything at all, when my Mum went in to surgery to have a tumor removed, nothing. People kept trying to comfort me but I didn't feel a single damn thing.
As I grew up, I later discovered that I'm not emotionally retarded, but I'm just a typical male taken to extremes who bottles everything up. Weeks, maybe months after events happen, I would break down screaming, or someone would trigger it and I would lose all consciousness for a handful of minutes where I go into a violent rage.
The point is, I never felt anything until the crisis point, a breakup for instance, or a punch, or a particularly cutting line (like being accused of not caring that my Dad had a heart attack). When I tell people of these stories, they tend to take them as stories, or find them funny, even attempting to instigate one of these violent episodes, that is, until they experience them.
In my last year of uni, one of my housemates drove 100 miles home literally a couple of minutes after I exploded at him, punching holes in walls while my knuckles ran with blood screaming in his face. A few months later, a friend drunkenly started pushing and hitting me in a club to try and trigger the reaction, immediately being punched in the throat, thrown to the floor and pinned down with my foot.
My issues are not a joke, they're not stories, they are warnings. Joke with me, whatever, but do not fuck with me. I do not find it funny, and neither will you.
However, recently, it's been changing. I don't feel the rage building, but more I feel sadness. My cat died recently, after 20 years of life. He was my best friend in the whole damn world, that little furry fucker. He would sit on my bed for hours watching me on the PC, every now and then climbing on the very desk I use now and sleeping between my arms.
I'm not ashamed to admit that I have cried in excess of ten times thinking about him since his death. I'm not talking merely tears, but full on nervous breakdowns, unable to think for the gut-wrenching pain of loss.
I talk openly to my girl about these things, when I'm upset, I tell her. I have a vent, a way to explain myself without being judged.
I still have moments where I want to hit someone so hard the police can track my fingerprints on their face's, but they are more measured, more rational. She listens, she helps me feel less of a freak, and a little more human.
I have a lot of problems, some that nobody knows about and probably never will, but so does everyone else. All of these perceptions have been opened to me by this one, amazing person. I feel every emotion that was suppressed by years of computer games.
You see, the hard work isn't because she's hard work to be with, it's because I can't even conceive a world without her. She has made my life so much better and she will never even realise why, which is a good thing. The last thing I ever want her to see are my problems first hand, because they are scary and people are terrified by me after they happen.
She makes me so much better, and I feel bad acknowledging that, fuck, I need this girl. I rely on her far more than she relies on me. It's a little difficult to deal with sometimes, knowing I need her more than she needs me, but there it is.
Sometimes, just sometimes, hard work is worth it.
Thursday 1 December 2011
The joys of self-employment
Back in my University days, I, like every other self-important douchebag with an afghan and Photoshop claimed I was a web designer, sometimes on days it suited me, a graphic designer.
I was studying English and American Literature, you see, so it wasn't like Law, where you have a direct career path, or at least a good idea of where to go with your degree. Truth is, I had created maybe a home page or two, and a handful of other graphics, but nothing that anyone had ever paid me for.
This, after graduation, meant I was unemployed. Armed with a second class degree and nothing else, I went to the Job Center to look for work and to collect my benefits. Twelve weeks passed with me going in every Tuesday to sign on, basically being told there was no work for someone with a degree, and with a degree the menial jobs won't employ me because they know I'll move on once a better opportunity arrived.
Towards the end, my Job Sensei (the actual title escapes me) revealed that if I could prove I was self employed, I could claim my £50 a week without having to sign on, giving me twelve weeks of uninterrupted free money.
I should probably tell you something here. When you feel the government screws you at every turn and is run by pompous arseholes, it becomes very hard to turn down free money from them. It feels justified.
Anyway, in that time, I decided that I should give proper web design a shot, so I talked to my Dad who is forever starting new companies, and after due process with Financial Directors and different boards, I was given the contract to build my first corporate website with a four figure sum.
This is when I discovered something - web design is BORING. I spent the majority of my time holed up in my room dealing with different shades of corporate blue and silver for the best part of 100 hours. My ability in Flash meant that I had something above most other faux-web designers, so I got away with it, and after a while, the site was finished, they approved, I got paid.
Then after that, to manage the website, I was given £250 a month on a year long contract. And then another website to design, and another contract. I was being called up to London for a few days a month to be an IT Consultant, or even a Marketing Executive whatever that meant, getting £80 a day and all expenses paid.
See, this sounds cool, but this money came, and comes at a price. Firstly, you actually have to work.
Anyone who knows me will realise that makes me sound like a giant hypocrite, but if I'm honest it took me nearly an entire month to even open Dreamweaver (a web design program) to get started*. I just needed that one time and I was off, but for all that time, I was in my room, absorbed in the work. I had no co-workers to talk to, nothing. I was living off my own back.
The problem with this is, it makes you a unrelenting piece of shit to your friends. You're an adult now, you're making money your way when they're still serving drinks behind a bar to random people who don't give a shit about them, where your work is appreciated.
But it's not worth it, it turns you into a monster, an arrogant bastard who prioritises himself above others and thinks the world revolves around him. I was there, and at times I still am there. It cost me a lot of friends and a lot of decisions I regret. Some people are impressed with what I did in those times, but I'm not. If I could take it all back, I would in a heartbeat. There is only one good thing that came out of that process, and it's coming down to stay for a week this Tuesday.
The result? Balance. I now work at an independent coffee shop and restaurant part time, about 20 hours a week. I supplement my income with my web work, but my 4 shifts ensure I'm around people who aren't afraid to tell me to shut up. It keeps me balanced and sane.
I guess my point is, self employment isn't cool, it isn't better than anyone else's menial job. There are a few people I've met at work who I consider to be far better people than me who live on far less.
Self employment may as well mean self involved, I just wish I could go back to my University self and tell him that everyone can see right through his bullshit.
*I should probably point out that this entire blog post is procrastination from work I was given three days ago.
I was studying English and American Literature, you see, so it wasn't like Law, where you have a direct career path, or at least a good idea of where to go with your degree. Truth is, I had created maybe a home page or two, and a handful of other graphics, but nothing that anyone had ever paid me for.
This, after graduation, meant I was unemployed. Armed with a second class degree and nothing else, I went to the Job Center to look for work and to collect my benefits. Twelve weeks passed with me going in every Tuesday to sign on, basically being told there was no work for someone with a degree, and with a degree the menial jobs won't employ me because they know I'll move on once a better opportunity arrived.
Towards the end, my Job Sensei (the actual title escapes me) revealed that if I could prove I was self employed, I could claim my £50 a week without having to sign on, giving me twelve weeks of uninterrupted free money.
I should probably tell you something here. When you feel the government screws you at every turn and is run by pompous arseholes, it becomes very hard to turn down free money from them. It feels justified.
Anyway, in that time, I decided that I should give proper web design a shot, so I talked to my Dad who is forever starting new companies, and after due process with Financial Directors and different boards, I was given the contract to build my first corporate website with a four figure sum.
This is when I discovered something - web design is BORING. I spent the majority of my time holed up in my room dealing with different shades of corporate blue and silver for the best part of 100 hours. My ability in Flash meant that I had something above most other faux-web designers, so I got away with it, and after a while, the site was finished, they approved, I got paid.
Then after that, to manage the website, I was given £250 a month on a year long contract. And then another website to design, and another contract. I was being called up to London for a few days a month to be an IT Consultant, or even a Marketing Executive whatever that meant, getting £80 a day and all expenses paid.
See, this sounds cool, but this money came, and comes at a price. Firstly, you actually have to work.
Anyone who knows me will realise that makes me sound like a giant hypocrite, but if I'm honest it took me nearly an entire month to even open Dreamweaver (a web design program) to get started*. I just needed that one time and I was off, but for all that time, I was in my room, absorbed in the work. I had no co-workers to talk to, nothing. I was living off my own back.
The problem with this is, it makes you a unrelenting piece of shit to your friends. You're an adult now, you're making money your way when they're still serving drinks behind a bar to random people who don't give a shit about them, where your work is appreciated.
But it's not worth it, it turns you into a monster, an arrogant bastard who prioritises himself above others and thinks the world revolves around him. I was there, and at times I still am there. It cost me a lot of friends and a lot of decisions I regret. Some people are impressed with what I did in those times, but I'm not. If I could take it all back, I would in a heartbeat. There is only one good thing that came out of that process, and it's coming down to stay for a week this Tuesday.
The result? Balance. I now work at an independent coffee shop and restaurant part time, about 20 hours a week. I supplement my income with my web work, but my 4 shifts ensure I'm around people who aren't afraid to tell me to shut up. It keeps me balanced and sane.
I guess my point is, self employment isn't cool, it isn't better than anyone else's menial job. There are a few people I've met at work who I consider to be far better people than me who live on far less.
Self employment may as well mean self involved, I just wish I could go back to my University self and tell him that everyone can see right through his bullshit.
*I should probably point out that this entire blog post is procrastination from work I was given three days ago.
Wednesday 30 November 2011
Dealing with (people who claim to have) depression.
Lets get this out of the way, I'm a diagnosed depressive. I have a sunlamp and a prescription which I never picked up due to a long history of addiction in my family. That's about as far as I'm going to go.
Another thing to get out of the way. People who outwardly proclaim to have depression, don't. I'm talking about that one dickhead who starts a conversation with "I'm so depressed".
Whenever someone proclaims this out loud, slap them around the face, hard and tell them to shut the fuck up because lies make baby Jesus cry. Anyone who is genuinely depressed hates being around people. They want to hide away from the world and be absorbed into the black hole building inside their sanity. They don't want to discuss it, they're ashamed of it, scared to admit it, admit that they have a genuine mental disorder and need help.
Whenever someone claims to have depression within a social context, then I'd be willing to bet they don't, and they just want some attention for being 'dark' and 'broody' (or 'a cunt' and 'faggoty' respectively). I didn't tell my parents for two years, and only because they grew convinced I was going to kill myself. I only told my work after 5 months because it was getting too much and the last shift I had a nervous breakdown.
Also, I didn't follow it with a fucking story about why "I'm so depressed", and you know why? Because depression isn't fucking tangible, it's impossible to explain, it's a void that has no reason of being. You think for hours on end about what could be wrong, to realise you have no problems that are unique to you. You realise that you have no reason to feel this bad, you feel selfish, you hate yourself for being so self absorbed when there is so much tragedy going on in the world.
That's depression, not the fact money is tight, or the boy you like isn't interested in you. Even severe loss isn't depression, it's grief. If your parents died, you wouldn't kill yourself. People watch their children die, they don't kill themselves, they grieve and internalise their pain.
They don't tell everybody loud and proud like they're so different.
So the next time someone claims to be depressed like that? Tell them they make me sick to my stomach, and I sincerely hope that they aren't bluffing.
Another thing to get out of the way. People who outwardly proclaim to have depression, don't. I'm talking about that one dickhead who starts a conversation with "I'm so depressed".
Whenever someone proclaims this out loud, slap them around the face, hard and tell them to shut the fuck up because lies make baby Jesus cry. Anyone who is genuinely depressed hates being around people. They want to hide away from the world and be absorbed into the black hole building inside their sanity. They don't want to discuss it, they're ashamed of it, scared to admit it, admit that they have a genuine mental disorder and need help.
Whenever someone claims to have depression within a social context, then I'd be willing to bet they don't, and they just want some attention for being 'dark' and 'broody' (or 'a cunt' and 'faggoty' respectively). I didn't tell my parents for two years, and only because they grew convinced I was going to kill myself. I only told my work after 5 months because it was getting too much and the last shift I had a nervous breakdown.
Also, I didn't follow it with a fucking story about why "I'm so depressed", and you know why? Because depression isn't fucking tangible, it's impossible to explain, it's a void that has no reason of being. You think for hours on end about what could be wrong, to realise you have no problems that are unique to you. You realise that you have no reason to feel this bad, you feel selfish, you hate yourself for being so self absorbed when there is so much tragedy going on in the world.
That's depression, not the fact money is tight, or the boy you like isn't interested in you. Even severe loss isn't depression, it's grief. If your parents died, you wouldn't kill yourself. People watch their children die, they don't kill themselves, they grieve and internalise their pain.
They don't tell everybody loud and proud like they're so different.
So the next time someone claims to be depressed like that? Tell them they make me sick to my stomach, and I sincerely hope that they aren't bluffing.
The phrase 'taste in music' is stupid, and this is why.
Firstly, you don't taste music, you hear it. You taste food, you have a 'taste in food', not a 'hear in food'. What stupid bastard came up with that?
Secondly, the idea of a 'taste in music' really perturbs me. When you're in school, music is just like fashion, you are judged on your tastes (for fuck sake). If you're a grunge, then you listen to punk, a plastic trendy, pop music, you don't have a choice, you don't have a taste in music, you have a fashion accessory for your ears that you can tell people about.
Now I can get this, school is a hard time and it becomes your life the minute you step into preschool. You can't forever be at odds with the people you spend the majority of your waking hours around. Like prison, find a niché that you find fit you closest and you stick with them fervently to avoid being raped in the showers by that guy behind the music room who never did call me back... I'm sorry, what?
Once you leave though, you have no excuse, you are free from these shackles to discover whatever audible delights you fancy, but you still find people, many, many people, who restrict themselves to genre.
I frequently hear people say "I like everything except for country". I'm not entirely sure how much country you have listened to, but I expect it is none, because you clearly don't appreciate the historical influence that country has had on the world.
You like rock? A bit of My Chemical Romance? Maybe a little bit of The Beatles? Well all of that started with country music you fucking neanderthals.
You have no reason to condemn music by genre, it's stereotyping, like saying all black people are criminals, or that Asians are terrible drivers (also, why is Asian a forced capital, but black isn't? BLOGGER IS RACIST!). Music is music, give it a damn listen.
Even folk music is very tightly linked to country, I'm talking Fleet Foxes, Simon and Garfunkel, even Mumford and Sons, all have their roots in country music.
You don't have to like all of it, but you can still listen to some and like some. I dislike the majority of gangster rap but I still find myself nodding to Notorious B.I.G.
I'm not going to say I'm better than you, I'm just saying you're far fucking worse than I am.
Secondly, the idea of a 'taste in music' really perturbs me. When you're in school, music is just like fashion, you are judged on your tastes (for fuck sake). If you're a grunge, then you listen to punk, a plastic trendy, pop music, you don't have a choice, you don't have a taste in music, you have a fashion accessory for your ears that you can tell people about.
Now I can get this, school is a hard time and it becomes your life the minute you step into preschool. You can't forever be at odds with the people you spend the majority of your waking hours around. Like prison, find a niché that you find fit you closest and you stick with them fervently to avoid being raped in the showers by that guy behind the music room who never did call me back... I'm sorry, what?
Once you leave though, you have no excuse, you are free from these shackles to discover whatever audible delights you fancy, but you still find people, many, many people, who restrict themselves to genre.
I frequently hear people say "I like everything except for country". I'm not entirely sure how much country you have listened to, but I expect it is none, because you clearly don't appreciate the historical influence that country has had on the world.
You like rock? A bit of My Chemical Romance? Maybe a little bit of The Beatles? Well all of that started with country music you fucking neanderthals.
You have no reason to condemn music by genre, it's stereotyping, like saying all black people are criminals, or that Asians are terrible drivers (also, why is Asian a forced capital, but black isn't? BLOGGER IS RACIST!). Music is music, give it a damn listen.
Even folk music is very tightly linked to country, I'm talking Fleet Foxes, Simon and Garfunkel, even Mumford and Sons, all have their roots in country music.
You don't have to like all of it, but you can still listen to some and like some. I dislike the majority of gangster rap but I still find myself nodding to Notorious B.I.G.
I'm not going to say I'm better than you, I'm just saying you're far fucking worse than I am.
My constant battle with opinion.
When your spend your entire life seeing the world through one set of eyes, it becomes very hard to believe that other people's perceptions are valid.
Put it this way, if someone held up and apple and told you it was... fuck, that's a bad example, an apple can be nearly any colour. Alright, say if someone told you a tree was made of carrots, you'd instantly disregard it because you've lived your world thinking it was made of... well, wood. Are trees made of wood if they are wood? That's one for Philociraptor.
So when I grow up thinking rap music is all terrible and talentless, it gets very hard to listen to a track without instantly recognising it as rap, and then associating it with being terrible.
The thing is, I can be, and often am, in the wrong.
I thought dubstep was terrible, and that was mainly because of how huge it became with 'students' (and by that I mean people who go to college to be a student, not to study), so I instantly associated it with attention grabbing fuck-nuts.
This morning a link was posted on my friend's Facebook wall, and I clicked on it. I instantly recognised the logo to be that of a dubstep Youtube channel, so I clicked off.
A little while later, it began playing for some reason. I didn't realise that it was the video, I assumed it was my Spotify account, playing my immaculate and unbeatable playlists. The tune was an absolute banger, and then I realised it;
Dear God, I like dubstep.
This now meant that I disagreed with a notion I had held for years. It was scary accepting that to myself, that I was wrong.
It wasn't embarrassment towards anyone else, it wasn't that people would judge me for my music taste (because that is, frankly, a pursuit followed exclusively by pathetic cunts), it was the notion that, holy shit, I could have been wrong and judgmental about a whole myriad of things.
Now this is a harrowing realisation for the inherently arrogant, that you aren't perfect, that you aren't the one true mind in the world. Knowing that you are flawed is both comforting and terrible. Suddenly things can go wrong and I won't be confused how, but now I'm not in total control, I could flip at any time I wouldn't know.
Anyway, I'm going to have to cut this short because I have work, but these thoughts, no doubt, shall continue.
Put it this way, if someone held up and apple and told you it was... fuck, that's a bad example, an apple can be nearly any colour. Alright, say if someone told you a tree was made of carrots, you'd instantly disregard it because you've lived your world thinking it was made of... well, wood. Are trees made of wood if they are wood? That's one for Philociraptor.
So when I grow up thinking rap music is all terrible and talentless, it gets very hard to listen to a track without instantly recognising it as rap, and then associating it with being terrible.
The thing is, I can be, and often am, in the wrong.
I thought dubstep was terrible, and that was mainly because of how huge it became with 'students' (and by that I mean people who go to college to be a student, not to study), so I instantly associated it with attention grabbing fuck-nuts.
This morning a link was posted on my friend's Facebook wall, and I clicked on it. I instantly recognised the logo to be that of a dubstep Youtube channel, so I clicked off.
A little while later, it began playing for some reason. I didn't realise that it was the video, I assumed it was my Spotify account, playing my immaculate and unbeatable playlists. The tune was an absolute banger, and then I realised it;
Dear God, I like dubstep.
This now meant that I disagreed with a notion I had held for years. It was scary accepting that to myself, that I was wrong.
It wasn't embarrassment towards anyone else, it wasn't that people would judge me for my music taste (because that is, frankly, a pursuit followed exclusively by pathetic cunts), it was the notion that, holy shit, I could have been wrong and judgmental about a whole myriad of things.
Now this is a harrowing realisation for the inherently arrogant, that you aren't perfect, that you aren't the one true mind in the world. Knowing that you are flawed is both comforting and terrible. Suddenly things can go wrong and I won't be confused how, but now I'm not in total control, I could flip at any time I wouldn't know.
Anyway, I'm going to have to cut this short because I have work, but these thoughts, no doubt, shall continue.
'Occupy' need to shut the fuck up.
If you've ever sat down and pondered on the injustice in the world, thinking "why does so much wrong occur?" then let me explain something to you.
Every human being on this planet has the capacity to be, and is guaranteed to be repeatedly, a giant fucking arsehole.
Co-ersively we can all be good, this is a two way street, but if you think for a second we can all get along and live in harmony, then you, my friend, are at the bottom of the food chain.
Human beings are animals, gifted with the ability of thought, although some more than others it would seem, but we seem transfixed on this whole idea of the '1%' being really rich and in power, while us 99% live in squalor. Life sure is hard in our world, isn't it? So who can blame the people setting up camp and protesting?
Well, me for a start, because it's stupid and achieves nothing. Do you really think people don't know corruption exists? If you are that condescending to think that the average Joe on the street doesn't know that ther are having money taken from their deserving hands by at least one other person, then you're just as bad as the bankers.
And look around, take in your country, your surroundings through fresh eyes. If I look around my room, I'm typing on my computer with a double bed and a view of my car parked outside. It's missing 4 hubcaps and has a few dents, but still, it runs and plays music through my smart phone.
I eat perhaps a little too much and spend too much time vegetating in front of the TV with my Xbox or Wii, or playing one of my two guitars.
Thing is, I don't even earn enough to be taxed, and I'm not claiming benefits. Shit can be tough sometimes, yeah, but life is pretty good when I look around.
If some wanky banker type needs to validate himself with billions of pounds, then fine, whatever.
My friend, currently unemployed, not only has his rent and council tax covered by the government, but he also is given £55 spending money a week.
Yeah, I imagine some people are getting screwed and fired, but cut the wine and the dvd's and re-adjust.
We're never going to cure corruption, we're all guilty of it, but if you can take the time out to camp in the middle of the street and still go home to a warm room and food, then fuck you, there are people that camp in the street and don't get to do that, because they don't have homes.
That time you're spending, telling us how you're getting screwed? That could be time spent helping the homeless, or at an old people's home, doing some good.
But that isn't cool, is it?
Fuck you all. From the bottom of my heart, you make me fucking sick, every last one of you.
Every human being on this planet has the capacity to be, and is guaranteed to be repeatedly, a giant fucking arsehole.
Co-ersively we can all be good, this is a two way street, but if you think for a second we can all get along and live in harmony, then you, my friend, are at the bottom of the food chain.
Human beings are animals, gifted with the ability of thought, although some more than others it would seem, but we seem transfixed on this whole idea of the '1%' being really rich and in power, while us 99% live in squalor. Life sure is hard in our world, isn't it? So who can blame the people setting up camp and protesting?
Well, me for a start, because it's stupid and achieves nothing. Do you really think people don't know corruption exists? If you are that condescending to think that the average Joe on the street doesn't know that ther are having money taken from their deserving hands by at least one other person, then you're just as bad as the bankers.
And look around, take in your country, your surroundings through fresh eyes. If I look around my room, I'm typing on my computer with a double bed and a view of my car parked outside. It's missing 4 hubcaps and has a few dents, but still, it runs and plays music through my smart phone.
I eat perhaps a little too much and spend too much time vegetating in front of the TV with my Xbox or Wii, or playing one of my two guitars.
Thing is, I don't even earn enough to be taxed, and I'm not claiming benefits. Shit can be tough sometimes, yeah, but life is pretty good when I look around.
If some wanky banker type needs to validate himself with billions of pounds, then fine, whatever.
My friend, currently unemployed, not only has his rent and council tax covered by the government, but he also is given £55 spending money a week.
Yeah, I imagine some people are getting screwed and fired, but cut the wine and the dvd's and re-adjust.
We're never going to cure corruption, we're all guilty of it, but if you can take the time out to camp in the middle of the street and still go home to a warm room and food, then fuck you, there are people that camp in the street and don't get to do that, because they don't have homes.
That time you're spending, telling us how you're getting screwed? That could be time spent helping the homeless, or at an old people's home, doing some good.
But that isn't cool, is it?
Fuck you all. From the bottom of my heart, you make me fucking sick, every last one of you.
Black Levi's 501's
Weird title, right? Well it was in my auto-fill section, and it got me thinking why I pay out the ass for a nice pair of jeans?
I'm not a man of fashion, it has to be said, my favorite clothes are my afghan scarf and green cargo pants. I look like a giant skater kid, but I'm comfy, although it should be said, I rock the holy shit out of a suit. Woof.
Anyway, I worked out it's been over a year since I bought a pair of jeans. My last pair were 34 inch blue Levi 501's, straight, and I rock those bad boys with a good pair of Chelsea boots. The waist goes pretty high, but James Dean used to wear them like that and the bitches loved his shit, aww ch'yeah.
Digressing, the reason why it's been so long is that they cost like £50 for a pair. Now, I know I could just got get a cheap pair, but they don't fit very well and look a bit crappy.
Also, I'm well aware of the apparent hypocrisy when you compare this post to the one before, but being a man doesn't mean I can't care how I look, just I care more about getting vagina than being one.
Still, why is denim so expensive? Or even labels? It's irritating, I mean Levi's are like the one brand that I would happily buy over and over, because their products are good, comfortable and look cool, but still, expensive.
I'm unaware of the overheads, I guess, I suppose little Indonesian slave children charge a fair wage for their labour.
That's another thing, actually, those fucking NSPCC adverts or Red Cross, which ever ones focus on Africa or whatever. YOUR ADVERTS DON'T WORK.
I don't know what it's like in Africa or whatever (which is now a founded nation in my dictionary, encompassing anything that isn't first world, and if you get offended, fuck you, don't pretend like you know the intricate differences between countries), in my world I was brought up with running water, not running bowels, I have no context.
I'm sure it's sad and terrible, but I honestly couldn't give less of a shit. This doesn't make me evil, this makes me honest. If it was happening on my back door, then yeah, I'd care, I'd pick up arms and shoot some motherfuckers, glock glock fo' rizzle, but it's not.
If you want me to feel anything, then show me what it would be like in my world, show me a reality where I have to live like them, not some crying children.
Seriously, stop showing me crying children, if I wanted to see that, I'd join the church.
People come up to me in the street all the time asking me to donate, and my girlfriend thinks I'm mean for telling them in a variety of colourful ways to peddle their bullshit elsewhere, but they get paid, more than I do, and they're asking for my money? Fuck them, honesty is massively important to me, and I see right through their shit-eating facade of care.
Tell me this, when was the last time someone came up to you in the street to ask for you to volunteer? If someone asked you to volunteer to give food to the homeless, or to donate blankets and food, would you really tell them to jump? Those are tangible things that we can see helping.
But of course, that's not the case, even aid is all about money money fucking money.
And if I'm paying any money for anything, it better look amazing on my ass.
No homo.
I'm not a man of fashion, it has to be said, my favorite clothes are my afghan scarf and green cargo pants. I look like a giant skater kid, but I'm comfy, although it should be said, I rock the holy shit out of a suit. Woof.
Anyway, I worked out it's been over a year since I bought a pair of jeans. My last pair were 34 inch blue Levi 501's, straight, and I rock those bad boys with a good pair of Chelsea boots. The waist goes pretty high, but James Dean used to wear them like that and the bitches loved his shit, aww ch'yeah.
Digressing, the reason why it's been so long is that they cost like £50 for a pair. Now, I know I could just got get a cheap pair, but they don't fit very well and look a bit crappy.
Also, I'm well aware of the apparent hypocrisy when you compare this post to the one before, but being a man doesn't mean I can't care how I look, just I care more about getting vagina than being one.
Still, why is denim so expensive? Or even labels? It's irritating, I mean Levi's are like the one brand that I would happily buy over and over, because their products are good, comfortable and look cool, but still, expensive.
I'm unaware of the overheads, I guess, I suppose little Indonesian slave children charge a fair wage for their labour.
That's another thing, actually, those fucking NSPCC adverts or Red Cross, which ever ones focus on Africa or whatever. YOUR ADVERTS DON'T WORK.
I don't know what it's like in Africa or whatever (which is now a founded nation in my dictionary, encompassing anything that isn't first world, and if you get offended, fuck you, don't pretend like you know the intricate differences between countries), in my world I was brought up with running water, not running bowels, I have no context.
I'm sure it's sad and terrible, but I honestly couldn't give less of a shit. This doesn't make me evil, this makes me honest. If it was happening on my back door, then yeah, I'd care, I'd pick up arms and shoot some motherfuckers, glock glock fo' rizzle, but it's not.
If you want me to feel anything, then show me what it would be like in my world, show me a reality where I have to live like them, not some crying children.
Seriously, stop showing me crying children, if I wanted to see that, I'd join the church.
People come up to me in the street all the time asking me to donate, and my girlfriend thinks I'm mean for telling them in a variety of colourful ways to peddle their bullshit elsewhere, but they get paid, more than I do, and they're asking for my money? Fuck them, honesty is massively important to me, and I see right through their shit-eating facade of care.
Tell me this, when was the last time someone came up to you in the street to ask for you to volunteer? If someone asked you to volunteer to give food to the homeless, or to donate blankets and food, would you really tell them to jump? Those are tangible things that we can see helping.
But of course, that's not the case, even aid is all about money money fucking money.
And if I'm paying any money for anything, it better look amazing on my ass.
No homo.
I wish punching was legal.
To start this off, I think I should set you up with a little something about me. I fucking hate the state of men nowadays.
This Topshop culture makes me want to stab every motherfucker in Hollyoaks just to prove that one man can take on an entire cast and crew of boys. I don't understand where straight guys get off on acting like giant faggots.
And when I say faggots, I don't mean homosexuals, I feel that word has transcended to just being an outright offence. I know plenty of gay men who are manlier than me, and I bench press tiger sharks, so that's pretty fucking manly right there.
But when most guys I see on the street are wearing tight jeans and caring more about their looks and wardrobe than their fucking girlfriends, I begin to question one thing:
What the fuck happened?
When I grew up, I had an older brother and a Dad who was brought up in Newcastle, and as such I would get hit and ripped on for doing something stupid. When I was REALLY stupid, I would even get punched in the face.
But I'm not made of glass, and that physical shock right there often deterred me.
We're animals, we were built big and strong, men that is, ladies are weak and inferior in comparison, but it's okay to say this, because women can't read, because their eyesight is based on movement. Or maybe that's vilociraptors?
I wish I was riding in that tank with Mr T from the Snickers advert, pulling up to people wearing bright pink jeans and throwing chocolate at them (although I would make sure they had spent the night in the freezer first to make them like little cocoa bricks).
I'm talking about the kind of guy who calls his Mum when his car breaks down, rather than popping the bonnet and looking at the guts of the machine as if he knew it from the arse of a cat.
Also, I had a cat for 22 years, so I happen to know what one looks like. Not in a weird way, just if you've ever had a cat, you know what I'm talking about, they are VERY confident in their assholes, and I never understand why. Even if I was a cat with no shame I still wouldn't go showing where I poop from to people, I'm not German.
I remember driving up to see Bloc Party three years ago, the day before my birthday (December 16th, don't forget) and I was on the M20, like one junction away from the M25 and suddenly my wheel went and my car started swerving.
I pulled over to the hard shoulder and found my rear passenger side wheel had burst. I had no idea how to fix a car, in Winter, on the side of a busy motorway near London, but I gave it everything and thirty minutes later after much swearing, my car had a new wheel fitted.
My best friend, who was in the car with me, didn't help because he was "freezing" so he sat in the passenger side.
This is exactly my point, when did men suddenly begin growing vaginas? The world already has 3.5 billion pussies, I really don't see why we're in such a rush to add some more post-birth.
The thing is, I can't hit these fuckers, because they'll just get me done by the fuzz. Say you're in the street and some little preppy gobshite makes a comment, self important, all dressed up by Mummy's magic plastic card. How sweet would it be if I could just lean in and smack the fucker in the nose?
Just imagine a world where people victimized arseholes in the street, they wouldn't condemn me, they'd applaud and nod in agreement. Chav's riding around on their bikes spitting on the street would be riding scared if it was legal for Joe Public to just crack one in the face, and then everyone ran to join in?
What a wonderful world if we all policed ourselves like this. I'm not talking about murder, just a punch, I mean being smacked in the face hurts like a bitch, I should know (and I'm sure you can imagine just by reading this) but it's not permanent. What will you remember more? A telling off, a word from the police, or a mob of the public slapping you about and unanimously proving that you're acting like a complete fucking arsehole?
It's not a perfect system, sure, but last time I checked, we didn't live in a perfect world.
Then again, maybe I just REALLY want to punch someone.
This Topshop culture makes me want to stab every motherfucker in Hollyoaks just to prove that one man can take on an entire cast and crew of boys. I don't understand where straight guys get off on acting like giant faggots.
And when I say faggots, I don't mean homosexuals, I feel that word has transcended to just being an outright offence. I know plenty of gay men who are manlier than me, and I bench press tiger sharks, so that's pretty fucking manly right there.
But when most guys I see on the street are wearing tight jeans and caring more about their looks and wardrobe than their fucking girlfriends, I begin to question one thing:
What the fuck happened?
When I grew up, I had an older brother and a Dad who was brought up in Newcastle, and as such I would get hit and ripped on for doing something stupid. When I was REALLY stupid, I would even get punched in the face.
But I'm not made of glass, and that physical shock right there often deterred me.
We're animals, we were built big and strong, men that is, ladies are weak and inferior in comparison, but it's okay to say this, because women can't read, because their eyesight is based on movement. Or maybe that's vilociraptors?
I wish I was riding in that tank with Mr T from the Snickers advert, pulling up to people wearing bright pink jeans and throwing chocolate at them (although I would make sure they had spent the night in the freezer first to make them like little cocoa bricks).
I'm talking about the kind of guy who calls his Mum when his car breaks down, rather than popping the bonnet and looking at the guts of the machine as if he knew it from the arse of a cat.
Also, I had a cat for 22 years, so I happen to know what one looks like. Not in a weird way, just if you've ever had a cat, you know what I'm talking about, they are VERY confident in their assholes, and I never understand why. Even if I was a cat with no shame I still wouldn't go showing where I poop from to people, I'm not German.
I remember driving up to see Bloc Party three years ago, the day before my birthday (December 16th, don't forget) and I was on the M20, like one junction away from the M25 and suddenly my wheel went and my car started swerving.
I pulled over to the hard shoulder and found my rear passenger side wheel had burst. I had no idea how to fix a car, in Winter, on the side of a busy motorway near London, but I gave it everything and thirty minutes later after much swearing, my car had a new wheel fitted.
My best friend, who was in the car with me, didn't help because he was "freezing" so he sat in the passenger side.
This is exactly my point, when did men suddenly begin growing vaginas? The world already has 3.5 billion pussies, I really don't see why we're in such a rush to add some more post-birth.
The thing is, I can't hit these fuckers, because they'll just get me done by the fuzz. Say you're in the street and some little preppy gobshite makes a comment, self important, all dressed up by Mummy's magic plastic card. How sweet would it be if I could just lean in and smack the fucker in the nose?
Just imagine a world where people victimized arseholes in the street, they wouldn't condemn me, they'd applaud and nod in agreement. Chav's riding around on their bikes spitting on the street would be riding scared if it was legal for Joe Public to just crack one in the face, and then everyone ran to join in?
What a wonderful world if we all policed ourselves like this. I'm not talking about murder, just a punch, I mean being smacked in the face hurts like a bitch, I should know (and I'm sure you can imagine just by reading this) but it's not permanent. What will you remember more? A telling off, a word from the police, or a mob of the public slapping you about and unanimously proving that you're acting like a complete fucking arsehole?
It's not a perfect system, sure, but last time I checked, we didn't live in a perfect world.
Then again, maybe I just REALLY want to punch someone.
No reason to write, no reason to read.
Like the beginning of all things, good and bad, like Bambi struggling free from his mother's deer pussy, this is no doubt going to be wobbly and revolting.
I'm still not sure what I'm doing with this, I'm just weirdly overcome by the desire to write. I'm currently persuing a job in journalism with an interview of sorts in the coming weeks (although I won't say where) and something struck me.
I'm a terrible writer.
Now, I don't mean my grammar is terrible, or I can't weave a delightful sentence or two, I'm a master wordsmith who craps out golden syllables without thought, but more because I'm so passive aggressive in my real personality, I tend to vent my aggression and immaturity into writing.
I'm trying to be a better person, you see? I'm 22, graduated from University and currently making coffee and offering IT support for a living. I live in my own place, so I'm officially an adult I guess, and my girlfriend is intense on her dreams for a career. I mean, she's like two years, nearly three younger than me and she knows what she wants to do already, it's fucking madness.
My point is, I want to grow up, I want to start cleaning my language up in my day to day, and my writing, but I always find when I hold stuff in I end up erupting like if Mt Vesuvius decided "Fuck this planet" and ejaculated harder than a horse behind Elizabeth Hurley.
Also, I have a thing for Liz Hurley. She buff 'n ting, word.
So I guess this can be my vent. No-one will really read it, so no-one can get offended.
I guess if someone does, which means you, theoretical viewer, then please excuse how hap-hazard everything is and just accept the fact that this is merely cathartic for me, I probably don't really give half a shit about the things I will discuss, I mean fuck it, I'm just your usual passive-aggressive 22 year old.
I'm not really funny, I may be a little depressing to read, possibly even for myself, but either way, this is how I'm feeling at the moment of writing.
And at the risk of dragging this on any longer, I bid you adéu until next time!
Also, I may have spelled "adéu" wrong there. If you notice this, then fuck you, because you're French.
I'm still not sure what I'm doing with this, I'm just weirdly overcome by the desire to write. I'm currently persuing a job in journalism with an interview of sorts in the coming weeks (although I won't say where) and something struck me.
I'm a terrible writer.
Now, I don't mean my grammar is terrible, or I can't weave a delightful sentence or two, I'm a master wordsmith who craps out golden syllables without thought, but more because I'm so passive aggressive in my real personality, I tend to vent my aggression and immaturity into writing.
I'm trying to be a better person, you see? I'm 22, graduated from University and currently making coffee and offering IT support for a living. I live in my own place, so I'm officially an adult I guess, and my girlfriend is intense on her dreams for a career. I mean, she's like two years, nearly three younger than me and she knows what she wants to do already, it's fucking madness.
My point is, I want to grow up, I want to start cleaning my language up in my day to day, and my writing, but I always find when I hold stuff in I end up erupting like if Mt Vesuvius decided "Fuck this planet" and ejaculated harder than a horse behind Elizabeth Hurley.
Also, I have a thing for Liz Hurley. She buff 'n ting, word.
So I guess this can be my vent. No-one will really read it, so no-one can get offended.
I guess if someone does, which means you, theoretical viewer, then please excuse how hap-hazard everything is and just accept the fact that this is merely cathartic for me, I probably don't really give half a shit about the things I will discuss, I mean fuck it, I'm just your usual passive-aggressive 22 year old.
I'm not really funny, I may be a little depressing to read, possibly even for myself, but either way, this is how I'm feeling at the moment of writing.
And at the risk of dragging this on any longer, I bid you adéu until next time!
Also, I may have spelled "adéu" wrong there. If you notice this, then fuck you, because you're French.
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