So... updates!

I've had the updates on my computer for ages but seeing as I've had no access to the internet and my iPod fucked up, and my digital camera decided it didn't need a hard drive anymore... it's been difficult to get them to college to update the blog! Plus I (somehow) forgot the password which made it rather difficult to do anything at all... even if I did have the means to get the .rtf file to college.


Anyway, I finally managed to get it here and had to open another GMail account (Seeing as I couldn't remember my many... many... many GMail passwords... or email addresses come to think of it. So I did! Then what happens? My fucking profile dies! AND THE HIT COUNTER HAS BEEN RESET. BLASPHEMY!

Enjoy.

Headline: Murder Young Girl Killed! (18/06/09)

I'm sorry, but the tabloids are really starting to get on my fucking tits. And no, before anybody asks, the DT reference in the title has absolutely nothing to do with the rest of this article.

Everybody knows that this Madeline McAnne (Or however it's spelt) girl got kidnapped because of her parents idiocy. "We were regularly checking up on her!" they say. Oh really? Well, not regularly enough, apparently. Idiots. Now really, I empathise with them, I really do. It's sad to see such a gorgeous young girl be taken from her parents, it's a pain I hope I never have to experience and a pain I wish no parent should have to experience but really... just find the little bitch! I'm sick of reading about her!

Every. Fucking. Day.

"Search for Maddie continues!"

Here's an idea... just inform us when she's fucking found! Holy shit! I don't give a fuck anymore! I sat down at college to use the internet one day when I noticed the desktop image had been changed... what to? A picture of Maddie with a big banner saying "Support the search!"... how the fuck can I support the search? What can I actively do to help look for her? They have a perverted Brit helping them (who probably wants a piece of her, the Portugese police force, forces from surrounding countries AND the British Secret Service on their side! I'm a bit out of my depth, no?

Now I've only just realised that the title may actually refer to Maddie but I can assure you that is not intended. It was originally "Headline: Murder Young Girl Got Laid!" but I changed it because "Beyond This Life" came on and I just couldn't help myself (That and this article never intended to go onto the topic of Maddie, but shit, a guys gotta rant! Also the only reason she was mentioned (besides the ranting) was to show how the tabloids leech everything like Blackmore and a good riff (NOTICE: No bad feelings against Blackmore, he's uber)).

Digression.

The thing what's really pissed me off? Y'know that TV show? "The Apprentice"? Well, the British version has a guy named Alan Sugar as the employer, right? He basically gets a fuckload of people and they prove to him that they deserve a place in his buisness (Known to us Vintage Gamers and Computer Geeks alike as "Amstrad"), and they get booted off one by one and so on and so forth. Anyway! One little whore who was on the apprentice happened to be a nymphomaniac and likes to sleep with married men.

Makes for good television, right? Wrong.

I love Alan Sugar, but holy fucking shit, please! She fucked some guy in a field and got in the papers; with pictures of her fucking him! Holy Lord Odin! The amount of times I've been photographed fucking some slut in a field and I didn't get into the fucking news! It wouldn't be as bad if it was a small article on page 4 or something, but no! This is front page news! (This is where the original title was to come into play, you see?)

To make matters even worse today I open up my favourite Sunday newspaper (for the curious, it's The People. Why? It usually has a nice random fact page! I love to be reminded that I am the epitome of useless knowledge and The People is to thank for it!) and what do I see? "HUSBAND STEALER IS AT IT AGAIN: WITH A MAN SHE ALREADY SLEPT WITH!

OH HOLY FUCK! NO! THIS CAN'T BE HAPPENING!

What the fuck is next? "Groom to be got drunk night before wedding!" or perhaps: "Married couple have sex on same night as marriage!".

What makes life worse for the tabloid press and the British citizens? (Here we go again) Reality fuckin' TV.

Seriously! Who the fuck thinks this shit up! I now demand that my idea for a RTV show is put up. Y'know, the one with the impossible tasks and death as the only escape? No? Look through the fucking archives, I'm too lazy to find out what it's called.

The sad thing about RTV is that people still watch it... Sure, I watched it to begin with. I've no problem admitting it... but for fuck sakes, about 10 years after it's conception, Big Brother is still going strong and to make it worse? Certain Newspapers (I won't mention who because I simply just don't remember) have dedicated a fucking pullout to it! A six page booklet to Big bastard Brother! Even worse? I still see that Jade fucking Goody is still in the papers! Fuck!

I think she must be the only person I really hate next to Leonardo DiCaprio. He was the first person in cinematic history (to my knowledge) to have two leading roles in a film. She was the only person to go into the Big Brother 'house' twice... but this time? Her mother came with her! Her gapped toothed, fugly as sin, Benefit Frauding, saggy, old, ignorant, twat-face, rug-munching, comestic surgery...ing mother. Then what happened? The general public (I'm glad to say I wasn't one of them) went out and bought all the newspapers that fronted: "JADE GOODY AND HER RACIST MOTHER ATTACH SHILPA SHETTY TO A WOODEN CROSS AND SET IT ON FIRE AS SHEEPISH HOUSEMATES MASTURBATE OVER THE SCENE!".

Holy fuck! Racism! On a REALITY TELEVISION show of all things! What has the world come to?!

Summary: Maddie, Amstrad Whores, Reality TV, Racism etc.

Summary of Summary: Read the above.

Summary of Summary of Summary: Read it.

Line 6: The Metallion's Choice! (02/06/07)

Seeing as my birthday is on the anniversary of the Normandy landings (6th of this month) it makes my life rather difficult when it comes to presents... sadly nobody has caught on that when I ask for something, it means that's in fact what I want. What has the Normandy landings have to do with my birthday other than the presents and the simple fact it's the anniversary of the Normandy landings? Nothing, I just wanted you to know that my birthday is the 6th of June.

Now, I managed to get hold of a new distortion pedal! It's a Line 6 Uber Metal pedal! And the sound makes my penis squirt all over the walls!

The guy in the shop told me it was probably the most durable budget pedal ever likely to be built. That I could throw it down the stairs and set the fucker on fire and it would still work.

What an idiot.

Guess what I did when I got home? I played with the pedal. Then set it on fire and threw it down the stairs. Did it feel good? Hell yeah! Does the pedal still work? Surprisingly yes!

Now, if I had tried that with my old pedal (Zoom Multi) I'm certain it would never even attempt to work ever again... let's face it, the fucking thing doesn't work anymore anyway. I've done everything to this Line 6. Took a hammer to it's steel casing, poured propane onto it and 'accidentally' let a match fall onto it, put it into my Boom Box for added Boom, poured a deadly concoction of Sulphuric Acid, Nitric Acid and Liquid Oxygen onto it. What happened?

It got scratched.

Then what happened? I threw it out of my bedroom window.

It got a little more scratched.

Then guess what I did? Go on. Guess!

I ejaculated onto it as a sign of friendship and gratitude for being so fucking hardcore.

The Moral of the Story: Line 6 actually make durable pedals! They last longer than five minutes... which is the average lifespan of a Line 6 amplifier or guitar.

10 Reasons why women must never watch football (04/04/07)

The complexities of a game where grown men chase a ball up and down a patch of grass have baffled women everywhere. Here are 10 simple reasons as to why women should never attempt to watch or follow the glorious game.

10. The offside rule:

Many-a man have been embarrassed by the woman’s scream of “WHY DID HE STOP HIM? HE WAS CENTIMETERS AWAY FROM THE GOAL AND HIS TEAM WERE OVER ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE PITCH! IT’S NOT LIKE HE COULD HAVE PASSED TO ANYONE!”

This is only defeated by “So, how come he can pick the ball up but nobody else can? Why is he so special?”

9. Aggregate scoring:

I have fell victim to this. Trying to explain that ‘each game is played twice and the first score counts’ to a woman is like explaining the theory of relativity to a three year old. Get around this one by explaining it as a 180 minute game.

8. The 'Oh Emm Jee, that player is so sexy!' discussion:

I'm sure we have all felt like bashing our heads against the wall when our girlfriends/casual partners/fuck buddies/skank who buys you drinks begins shouting and screaming about how incredibly sexy the ugliest player on the pitch is. Notice how it's always the opposing team that has the sexy player? Now notice how your friends are looking at you and your girlfriend/casual partner/fuck buddy/skank who buys you drinks.

You're a social leaper.

Pervert.

7. Match of the Day:

This has only happened to me once (fortunately not with my woman at the time) but when it does happen... oh shit, it's terrible. You and your mates are sitting around your living room with a couple of pints, and MotD comes on. Great! You couldn't watch that Manchester Vs. Liverpool match because you were working in a cave! Now at least you can see the highlights! The excitement builds as does your erection. Then the inevitable happens; the woman opens her black abyss (Female translation: mouth).

"Oh my god! Rooney got knocked out by Gerrard in the match this morning too!"

...eugh.

6. The Premiership, Leagues, Divisions and so on:

Have you ever tried to explain why Sunderland got relegated from the Premiership to Division 1 to a woman? If you haven't, you're a lucky man! If you have, I feel your pain. Holy shit, is it really that hard to grasp that the relegated team just didn't play well enough to stay in the Premiership?

Oh wait, we're talking women here. Yes. Yes it is.

5. The 'HE'S FAKING IT!' routine:

If you've ever watched porn with a woman, have you noticed how everytime somebody moans the first words out of the woman's mouth is "SHE'S FAKING! SHE'S NOT REALLY HAVING A MULTIPLE ORGASM!"?

Allow me to take you back to the Germany '06 (For those of you who don't know, I'm talking about the World Cup). The England and Newcastle United (Clever people, Newcastle United supporters. Unlike the Mackam scum.) supporters will vividly remember Michael Owen falling in the opening minutes of the game and being put out of action for almost a year. Now, I was watching it with my girlfriend and suddenly she bursts out "He's fine! He isn't injured, he's just trying to get a free kick!" ...a free kick? From where he was it might have well have been a throw in!

Can somebody explain to me how a professional athlete (Like Owen) can make his leg vibrate with the exact same resonation as a snapping ligament and get carried from the field, to an ambulance and not return to your career for almost a year? The second he went down and the slow motion was played I immediately said "Ligament!", but my girlfriend thought not! He was faking it!

Clever Michael Owen!

4. The extra men on the field:

I don't quite understand this one myself... a lot of women (and I'm being entirely honest and truthful with all you infidels here) don't understand the point of linesmen and hardly understand how the referee gets pretty coloured cards, a whistle and a pen. I just can't explain it to a woman... it's just too... painful. I can't even think about it. You make my brain hurt.

3. The 'Pub Quiz' scenario:

This happened to me at a party a while ago. We were bored waiting for the alcohol to arrive and we decided to play a drinking game! The amount of points we got were relevent to how much we had to drink later on in the night. Naturally, the mens questions were all about cars, guns, penii and football. The womens questions involved shoes, dresses and other such bollocks. One question was simple: How many players in a team can be on the pitch at once.

The women stared blankly. They thought about it and finally answered! "16?"

She had to gargle 16 mouthfuls of male semen just to wash her mouth out. After that? The toilet bleach.

2. The 'Own Goal' cheer:

We all know the disgrace we feel when the woman stands up screaming for the own goal your home team has just 'scored'. I think every woman under the sun has done this at least once. It's like being in a synagogue dressed as Adolf Hitler, especially in Newcastle.

1. 'I support a team at the opposite side of the country!':

I think it's safe to guarantee that every woman does this. I don't know any woman who lives in Newcastle who actually supports Newcastle United (of course those who actually show an interest in football, those who don't just wait for us to win a game because they get a fuck). Manchester... Arsenal... Chelsea... Liverpool... they're just fucking cowards! They wouldn't support Barnet, would they? Of course not! Why wouldn't they? Because Barnet has exactly zero chance of winning the Premiership. Manchester, Arsenal, Chelsea, Liverpool and other top teams do!

...of course I say this after Liverpool got slaughtered by a Spanish team for a cup of some description (if it isn't Newcastle or England and doesn't affect Newcastle in any way, I could care less).

Women everywhere!

Raise your hands into the air!

You're idiots!

Idiots of the world!

Family Guy and Notice to Women (12/03/07)

Family Guy: Stop rehashing old jokes; and if you do? At least rephrase them. You make my eyes cry blood with your lack of ingenuity.

Women: Stop being lying, cheating, psychotic bitches. Seriously. You fuckers complain when we men have porn on our computers, phones, in our DVD collection… when all the while you fuckers have ungodly amounts of pictures of your ex’s wang! Sounds funny, right? Wrong. Not when their dicks resemble single celled organism. If he’s that small, I must have a penis so microscopic that even the Hubble Space Telescope struggles to keep it in visual range.

From ten mm away!

Therefore I have decided to remove every woman’s womb via the use of an old, rusty, metallic coat hanger… through their fucking mouths.

All women must choke on my microscopic penis.

I can't escape the pain... it's everywhere! (25/02/07)

So, recently I've been starved of sexual pleasure for three weeks; as you can imagine my testicles have turned a rather seductive shade of blue and after doing my daily PC exercises (Not Personal Computer; it's the muscle in your wang), pain is highly plausible. I usually go for about one hundred or so clean (without any restraints) and then pierce my bell end with a dirty sewing needle, then I attach it to my toe and proceed to do a further three. Why three after doing one hundred? Because after attaching the ring in my penis to my toe, the first one dislocates one of them. The second one tears my toe completely off my foot. The third one? I then attach it to a 14 wheeled Juggernaut and gently place a breezeblock onto the accelerator. Then? I wait for it to reach a steady 100 MPH and pull the Juggernaut back into its starting place which shatters the breezeblock and tears the ring out of my penis. I then use the dirty sewing needle which pierced my penis to sew my toe back to my foot and stitch up the tear in my bell end.

Well, that or I put a wet flannel across my penis and proceed to exercise.

Anyway, I ran head first into these exercises and sprained my wang pretty badly. It hurts. A lot. So after a week of having a horrible stabbing pain in my urethra when I urinate, my girlfriend came over! But... the horrible stabbing pain in my urethra when I urinate is still there. Hurting. All the time. Agony. Utter agony. (Un?)Fortunately my girlfriend is too kind to give me a good hard fuck when my knob hurts, so I had to suffer two weeks of not seeing her with only knuckle children to keep me company, and finally another week of no sex.

Great...

So! Anyway, I decided to fap it off today! Yay! ...no, not Yay. Because believe me, it hurt. Holding and fapping was nothing... then I ejaculated. All over. And it hurt. Like hell.

Moral of the story: Tantric men undergo a lot of pain in order to give multiple orgasms after multiple orgasms and blow their load whenever they feel like it. A lot of pain!

Now, come on people. I'm not as stupid as you may think (13/02/07)

Many people decide on proving their idiocy to me on a daily basis; like it's a part of some sick regime. Seriously, stop it. I know you're inferior; you don't have to prove it to me. I promise! For example: When you try to play a joke on me? Unless it's practical, you're going to fail. Miserably. Even if it's practical, chances are you're going to be laughed out of the city as your joke gets turned on you.

Now, when somebody tries to take the piss out of me, it doesn't work! It's like putting me in an English Language class with a bunch of retards and not expect me to purposely correct everybody (including the teacher. Believe me, I'm currently doing it every Friday morning at college) and everything. Allow me to elaborate: You = Retard. I = Superior genius (thus the reason I am the King and Emperor of the Universe).

If that isn't simple enough, I don't know what is.

The reason I write this (and the reason I'm slightly more aggressive than usual) is because a certain ex girlfriend had her friend call me up in an attempt to mock me. Tut, tut, tut. Such idiocy should be condemned and those who practice it executed. I'll tell you the secret to why nobody can mock me while communicating with me: I have an inbred detector! So, when you take the piss out of me I know when to play along. Eventually I get bored and walk in the opposite direction/log off/stop talking/hang up.

For example:

Idiot: Are you good in bed?

Me: I wouldn't know, I've never fucked myself.

Idiot: Have you made a girl moan?

Me: Seeing as I'm slightly deaf in my right ear, I should imagine so.

Idiot: So have you made a girl moan?

Me: ...do you even speak fluent English?

Idiot: Is that a no?

Me: You mispronounced yes.

Idiot: Oh, so you are good in bed.

*Horrible, girly giggling echoes in background. Ears begin to bleed.*

Me: Would you like to find out?

Idiot: Oh god yes.

Me: Great. You'll have to pay.

Idiot: So you're a Gigolo?

Me: No, it's just in order for you to get an erection out of me, you'll have to give me money.

This is an actual excerpt from a conversation I mentioned earlier. You can see how the idiot failed to take control of the situation and how I allowed her to have a certain level of control before I got bored. Another interesting excerpt from the same conversation is as follows:

Idiot: Do you think you're sexy?

Me: I'm not egotistical enough to consider myself in such a way.

Idiot: But you have to think you're sexy!

Me: Do you think you're sexy?

Idiot: You have to, otherwise you think you're ugly. [Thump's note: She is ugly, I might add. Acne covered with 7 inches of make up and fat.]

Me: Right, well you need to remove your head from the black abyss and look in the mirror.

Idiot: What are you trying to say?

Me: That being sexy and thinking you're sexy are two different things.

Idiot: You've got no self confidence.

Me: I never denied that, however we are talking about belief, not confidence.

Idiot: But you obviously don't! You just said you didn't think you were sexy!

*Girly giggles from background.*

Girlies in background: But you are!

Me: *Sigh* Ego and self confidence are two different things. They're separated by a thin line.

Idiot: You are well sexy, though.

Me: ...right.

Even better! Again from the same conversation.

Idiot: Do you even know who this is?

Me: I have an inkling. [Thump's note: I lied; I knew exactly who she was.]

Idiot: Who is it then?

Girly in background: Don't ask him that!

Me: *********** [Thump's note: I won't make her famous by telling the world her name]

Idiot: How the fuck did you know that? I've only ever saw you, like, once!

Me: And spoken to me numerous times.

Idiot: That doesn't explain how you know who I am!

Me: I've a facility for it.

Notice how the idiot squirms. This is what happens to all who oppose me. An even better example of such fine stupidity and my incredibly witty mind can be seen when true idiots can't think of their own prank calls. Believe me, I've heard them all:

*Spoken in crappy Indian accent*

Idiot 2: You kicked my dog!

Me: She deserved it.

Idiot 2: You come in my house and kick my dog?

Me: Yes. You should have had her put down a long time ago.

Idiot 2: You kick my dog!

Me: We've established that.

Idiot 2: You no understand! You kick my dog!

Me: Indeed. But to be fair, your wife kicked me first.

Idiot 2: You kick my wife too?

Me: Oh shit, I thought we were talking about the same animal! Sorry, man!

Idiot 2: *Suddenly drops act* I'M GOING TO FUCKING KILL YOU!

Me: Sure you are. Now piss off.

I could go on for days with those kind of displays of human stupidity, but my favourite is the golden oldie that is used by teenage girls worldwide to that strange, skinny kid with long hair.

Idiot 3: Heya!

Me: *Looks up* Yeah?

Idiot 3: I was just wondering what you were doing...? *Plays with hair*

Me: ...work?

Idiot 3: Oh! Yeah! *High pitched wail... or giggle... never sure which* What about tonight?

Me: Fucking you.

Idiot 3: Oh, I wish!

Me: Wishes come true.

Idiot 3: What time shall I meet you and where?

Me: After school in the bushes.

Idiot 3: But somebody might hear us!

Me: Damn, guess you're right! How about we just get it over and done with now? You open your mouth and I'll insert my cock down your throat. Nobody'll hear that, you won't be able to make a sound!

Idiot 3: That's disgusting...

Me: But true. Now go away, I'm working.

Idiot 3: So what time are we meeting?

Me: Fuck sakes... after school, north gates.

Idiot 3: ...which way is north?

Me: Sun rises in the east, sets in the west. Once you figure out which way the sun is heading, you can work it out.

Idiot 3: Okay!

After school...

Idiot 3: You didn't think I was serious did you?

Me: Serious? Of course not! I'm just waiting for you to let your guard down so I can drag you into that blue van over there where I can rape you.

Idiot 3: You wouldn't dare!

Me: Care to put money on that?

*Idiot 3 storms off*

Me: Can you break a fifty?

Too many stories. All of which true.

Moral: Idiots are everywhere; be on your guard.

When sexual frustration meets ugly porn (27/12/06)

I'm becoming bored of my porn. It's horrifying, believe me. Though I don't have much porn anymore, I found my sexy porn disk with sexy porn (unfortunately it's mainly lesbian, and I'm into the hardcore penetration including extra woman for full effect) but it still only allowed me to collect 1.45GB of porn. Still quite sad in consideration.

Anyway, before my internet went down I downloaded some porn from a mysterious website that only a select group of internet terrorists can access. I don't know the name of the woman in it, but she's Swedish (I think...) and her first name is Lenka... and her second name is known to me only as 'G'. She must be a Rapper.

I think this is good porn! The woman in it is fucking hot! At least big C tits (*spLUEge*) and she has one of the best figures I've seen in a long time; what I'm trying to say is: I'd tap this shit without consideration... but don't let my girlfriend know. Best part about the whole thing is that the man in it? He's uglier than purified sin mixed in with a little bit of your Granny. Yeah, your Granny.

His mouth (when fully open) stretches beyond the horizons and his upper jaw becomes singed with the heat of the atmosphere bearing down on him. He bashed his head on the moon the other day because he yawned a little bit too liberally. I'm telling you, it's fucking huge (his mouth, his dick is relatively big; but his mouth > his dick)! To make matters worse? He has a forest growing on his brow.

Fucking seriously.

He was fucking this Lenka girl, right? Then he spasmed (You know that tingly feeling you get down your spine when you're just getting to the: "OH GOD SEX IS FUCKING GREAT!" stage?) and a fucking Bald Eagle flew out! Bird shit all over his fucking nose - which is equally as big, I might add. Think of a Jew, right? No, no Jews... think of a pick axe, right? A really big pick axe with snot hanging off of it and bird shit on it. You have his nose.

But this fucking pick axed nosed bastard... doesn't use his nose! I don't think he realises that air is free (lolololol). Oh no, he doesn't need his nose... he has his big... gaping... darkened abyss only known to us mortals as a mouth. It's actually quite terrifying. If he was a wolf you could hear him breathing around the fucking world. Through clenched teeth he sucks the air from the room, and the noise is deafening... when he reaches climax (which appears to be every other minute or so) he, naturally, breathes heavier; at which point the Earth's atmosphere turns a slightly lighter shade of blue.

But, once you've put his better assets aside (...what?) and you look at him as an artist... you realise his body is made up of shapes! Now, I know you're supposed to do that anyway... circle for the joints, ovals for the arms, legs etc. but that shit never worked for me, so we won't get into that. Really though; his torso is made up of an inverted triangle, his head is a rectangle and his dick is (believe it or not) a fucking triangle. My fucking sword isn't as pointed as his ding dong!

It's funny... the look she gives him when she realises she has to spread her legs for him... I think it's supposed to say "I'm sexy, I'm seductive. You want my vagina." and if you look at just the shot of her face, it may say that! ...but once you see the pick axed nosed bastard? All it says is "I should have called in sick today...".

So, the reason I began writing this was to inform everybody of my recent acquisition of a certain video editing program... which I've been playing with for the past couple of weeks. It's quite fun, really. I heard somebody once say that if you replace the word 'sword' with 'penis', DragonForce become a lot more interesting. Well, I tried it with the video of 'Through the Fire and the Flames'.

I searched through my porn to find an appropriate penis... well, five penii. Five appropriate penii. Two for drumsticks, two for guitars and one for a microphone. Let's just say that I took the term (used only by professional guitarists and musicians alike) "Fretwanking" to a whole new level. Especially when I realised that I'd actually got the money shot of one of the penii ejaculating by fluke (I won't call it a mistake because it added to the hilarity). What did I do? Moved it to the high note and watched as Herman Li blew his load all over Sam Totman as he finished swigging his drink.

However, I decided all this work of video editing and straining towards professionalism was a little too ambitious and that I hadn't done anything small and beginner like... did it stop me? Yes, as a matter of fact it did.

I rubbed the pick axed nosed bastard's head out of every shot it was visible. Frame. By. Fucking. Frame. Still not content, what did I decide on doing? I ran the sound through the channels, so the pick axed nosed bastard were going through the left channel and ambient noise/Lenka were going through the right channel. That was about a days work right there... what was the point of this? Well, my left speaker is further away from me and has a 17" monitor in it's way, so it'll take the sound waves longer to travel to me.

Bollocks. I did it so I can erase him from the porn entirely.

BUT! I had a better idea!

After being horrified by the sight of a good looking, young, nubile woman being fucked by a headless triangle, I decided to use some face replacement therapy on the .avi files. I got the head of Joey DeMaio (a really corny shot off of Hell on Earth Part 1 from the bonus section) and pasted it on the headless porn star. Now, again this was all frame by frame... I started doing this about a month ago... and it's finally reached completion! However, it's a bit strange watching a static .PNG image smiling at me while its body fucks a girl... some of the time its head has turned 180 degrees.

But now I can ejaculate in peace, and sleep at night knowing the worlds a better place.

If I had a bullet for every time somebody made a stupid noise towards me, they wouldn't be alive right now. (10/12/06)

So, today I was walking to the shop for my mother, right? I turned the corner and everything was fine, then just as I was about to turn the final corner to get to the shop, a bunch of inbred retards come around on their bikes. I thought "Oh, great. They've stopped. They're waiting for me. Fun!". The oldest (about 15/16 now I should imagine) actually screamed "NYER! NYER NYEEEER!" imitating what I thought was a dying cat (apparently it was a motorbike, but they fooled me!) and tried to wheelie into my face!

They forgot that the funny looking guy with long hair and a leather jacket has hands and isn't afraid of getting them dirty from nasty bicycle wheels.

I grabbed his front wheel. He stopped dead. His friends panicked. Spectators played a diminished chord for extra tension. The 15 year old began crying.

Then I pushed the bike slightly to the right.

I was impressed by the fact that my right hand didn't leave my pocket and even more so by how effortless I made it look. Anyway, I digress. When he finally stood back up and I finished laughing, he threatened me!

...well, he actually just kind of made a funny noise in my general direction. So I hit him!

Oh, how funny he looked after being punched in the face. Then he made another funny noise in my general direction! So I threw his bike at him! Then his brother chased after me! So I ran!

Anyway, three kids on bike versus alcoholic music student who smokes too much? Let's just say they caught me. What was a man to do? I was being threatened with being beaten to within an inch of my life! Oh noes! Like I gave a shit, I was bored an in need of entertainment... so the LUEser who had been laying dormant within myself awoke and shook my entire body and mind... and then all hell broke loose.

"What the fuck did you do to my brother?!"

"...I hit him. Twice. Once with a bike."

"Why the fuck did you do that, you fucking little bastard?!"

"Because he made a stupid noise at me."

"What the fuck are you talking about, you fucking stinking hippie?"

"But I had a bath just this morning..."

"Fucking tramp, I'll fucking kill you!"

"ANGST OUT OF TEN!"

"...what?"

"LOL [Thumps note: Yes, I did actually shout 'LOL' at him.] FAG!" *Runs into shop*

Anyway, I walked out of the shop afresh with four pints of milk, two tins of dog food, a loaf of bread, sugar, three packets of filter tips and eight packets of rolling papers. Only to find the kids standing outside of the shop. The LUEser broke free once more and again, hell was raised.

"FUCKING GET BACK HERE YOU LITTLE BASTARD!"

"No! You come here!"

"I'LL FUCKING KILL YOU!"

"No you won't, you don't have the balls."

*Walks towards me* "WANT A FUCKING BET?!"

"Depends how much you're willing to bet."

"ANY AMOUNT OF FUCKING MONEY! I'LL FUCKING KILL YOU!"

*Kicks in balls*

"LOL! I WIN!"

Then I ran back home... with four pints of milk, two tins of dog food, a loaf of bread, sugar, three packets of filter tips and eight packets of rolling papers. Only to find the kids had ran to their parents (drug dealers) to find the 'stinking hippie who just had a bath this morning who knocked the retard out, who kicked me in the balls. You'll know him because his hair smells of Herbal Essences shampoo!'.

The parents then came out with knives, baseball bats and a machete... oh joy. What the fuck have I got myself into here?

...oh look, nothing. Because the police are right next to them... oh shit, I'm going to die. Oh wait, no... they're getting arrested! Yay!

Moral of the story: Sexual frustration causes violence.

College sucks. Never go to College. (06/12/06)

I've learnt many things since I have begun this blog of online awesomeness. I have realised that skin eating chemicals are in fact skin eating chemicals. I've been taught that women (in general) are cheating bitches. I've come to realise that I rock even more than I knew I did when I began this... however the most important lesson I've learnt?

College sucks.

I loved it when I got back into learning, absolutely loved it. Instead of being told to learn stuff (like school), I was being asked to learn things! It was great! To make it better? I got to sing and play guitar! I thought my dreams had come true when I was told that I would be rocking out in a live performance at three points during the year too! Ecstasy. Bliss.

Then we started work on the second performance we were to play...

Great...

Imagine my excitement when I wasn't given any singing parts (I'm a vocalist and I'm not singing... what?), I'm playing guitar day in, day out... to none other than that painfully technical guitar track... ABBA! DANCING QUEEN! *Fanfare*

The first performance had me singing and playing guitar to Queen - I Want to Break Free and The Beatles - Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds. I thought it was great. It resparked my love for both Queen and the Beatles. It was fantastic, most enjoyable thing I did in years! And this year they make me play guitar on fucking Abba? ABBA?! I can't find the logic... I really can't.

The set list is even better. Absolutely incredible, I think. The Beatles - Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club (We wanted Norwegian Wood, but no! This song is infinitely better! ....*sigh*), T.Rex - Children of the Revolution (They've done better songs, why's this one so damn important?), Madness - Baggy Trousers, Abba - Dancing Queen (There isn't a hard enough wall to bash my head against...), Blur - Song 2 (Eh...) and some song from Grease.

Yay...

In all honesty, I wouldn't mind doing Abba!

If I was playing Keyboards.

What gets on my tits is that we have three guitarists (To Abba's one...), and none of us have a fucking clue what we're playing. The bassist doesn't know, the drummer has a rough idea and the keyboardist sits there and gets pissed off after the first verse seeing as she can't figure out the chord changes. Why don't any of us know what we're playing?

The Mackam-Geordie hybrid known only as "Phil Poolan" (Who appears to model himself on Marc Bolan...) keeps changing the bloody thing. He has became affectionately known to us as "Syd Barret in reincarnation", or "That stupid fucking Mackam bastard who can't fucking play the same song to save his fucking dirty bastard life". He is generally thought highly of amongst us, as you can probably tell.

Would you like to know how pissed off we all are at him?

We've given up playing the song.

We just fuck around during the rehearsals... which last about 3 hours long... per fucking day... I dislike this. I dislike it to much. Especially when I have to put up with three Mackams playing fucking pop punk all bastard day!

Jesus, I still feel pissed off... I may need to vent at you all once more at some stage.

If not, expect to hear of a student killing a tutor at Newcastle College.

From this day forward I shall join the women in their hatred of beards. (05/12/06)

Recently I took up a shaving strike due to the fact that I'm absolutely petrified of the razor we have. It's one of the first style razors to come out, y'know the ones that take cut-throat razors as refills? Yeah, them. Every time I shave I have to drink two pints of water to compensate for the blood loss. Now, this wouldn't be a bad thing if I happened to be a suicidal masochistic emo... but as it happens? I'm not.

The problem with these razors is that you can't win. When they're sharp you have to have the correct angle to get any hair off of your face at all, if you move it 1 degree in the wrong direction? Odin help you, because you'll fucking bleed to death, my friend. When they're blunt? They just take the skin off of half of your face. So, imagine my excitement when I realise that we still haven't bought any new razors!

Anyway! Last time I shaved was almost a week ago. If you're still wondering why, read the last paragraph, then send me your home address and correct postage and packaging fee and I'll send it out to you. So what if I go to prison sentenced with Manslaughter? At least I would have proven my point, right?

I had a Varg Vikerness style beard at one point, y'know, the goatee type things but only on your chin? Yeah, I looked pretty damn hardcore. I looked like a pimp if I left my sideburns to grow (which I often did). Now, the difference between my Varg beard and sideburns and a full on beard? The Varg beard and sideburns didn't itch half as much as this.

Come to think of it, nowhere I've shaved on my body has ever been this itchy... and I've shaved a lot. I used to shave my pubes on a regular basis (Cut down the forest so you can see the tree) and my girlfriend made me shave my chest and my armpits. So far the armpits were probably the worst. I was told to splash cold water on them to numb the itching. I did!

Nothing happened.

I was told that an ice cube would help.

It made me cold.

I was then told by Steph (cousin) that I should try Vaseline. I did!

It made both of my armpits greasy as hell and fucking uncomfortable... to make matters worse it still didn't numb the itch.

On the beard though... shit, I've tried everything. Calamine lotion, E45 cream, Vaseline, cold water, ice cold water, ice cubes, water at room temperature, tepid water, warm water, hot water, boiling hot water, naked flame, a mixture of all above, lava, 12-gauge shotgun, muffler from a Harley, electro-shock therapy, neodymium magnets and piranha fish. So far it succeeded in making me lose interest in pain of all shapes and sizes.

Jesus, it got so bad at one point that I even tried going to a Fondue party! It didn't do much, but it did help me pull off my Freddy Krueger impersonation.

I looked like a young Sven Goran Erikkson.

I seriously don't fucking get why the hell anybody would want a beard! I know a couple with them and sure, they pull it off. I never see them scratching or anything (unlike me who is currently tearing my face to shreds in order to remove my nerves), so I come to the conclusion that I'm allergic to facial hair on my jaw bone and the best part of my cheek!

I would wash the damned thing if it was long enough!

However my face does feel fluffy and soft... like a kittens! :3

My biggest test as a gamer has been confronted. (02/12/06)

For the commercially Christian festival known as Christmas, I have decided to give my brother (Jack) my PS2. Why? Because I never play it and rarely have the time to play it due to the fact that I'm lazy or I don't have time. "What's the problem? Where does the test fit into all this, Thump?" I hear you ask inquisitively.

I've only completed MGS3. Once.

I only own about six games but I resent giving away any form of games console... especially when I've unfinished business on it. This makes me rather sad... now, my challenge is this:

Complete the games (including the three which has been bought for the brat, making nine games, eight of which uncompleted) before Christmas... it needs to be wrapped and such yet... so I have about 20 days at MOST to complete these games.

I must go and allow myself to be defeated, because let's face it - I'm fucked.

UPDATE: Upon Christmas Eve it came to realisation that I have failed. Miserably. I became addicted to San Andreas (Those missions are infuriating and it lead to me refusing to put it down for about a week in order to complete the more annoying missions.... I got about 1/4 ways through the second island) and got stuck on The Suffering 2... I refused to even attempt to complete Spryo the Alcoholic Dragon: Enter the Brewery and same goes for some game called 'Hidden Invasion'. Looked like a lower budget version of Mace Griffin: Bounty Hunter (Xbox), I got bored of Americas 10 Most Wanted after I realised how shite it was, I got sick of my eyes becoming strained because of the pre-battle sequence on Lord of the Rings: Third Age and I just never got around to playing the others.

Now he has my PS2. But I've still got MGS:3 and the Memory Card... and I'm waiting for the PS3 to be released so the PS2 will drop in price. I win.

Guy Fawkes is a bad influence on me. (6/11/06)

As you all know, it was Bonfire Night last night. A largely British celebration, as it was founded by a dirty red Commie trying to blow up the Houses of Parliament. It's a touching story remembered nowadays by smack heads (Heroin Addicts) sitting outside corner shops screaming: "PENNY FOR DA GAY!" (See entry: "Hallows Eve is nigh upon us. Prepare."), the conclusion of this begging is brought upon on the 5th of November (when the plot was foiled... NOT the day when Guy Fawkes was executed) by throwing your Guy Fawkes made of black bags and old clothes and used and discarded condoms upon the flames... why?

We don't know.

Every year my Nana holds a family gathering to commemorate the fact that somebody at least tried to explode the politicians of Britain. Kind of sick, no? Anyway! I walked in and immediately I saw my cousin and her boyfriend, so I stood talking to them for a while, then I saw my other cousin... then another cousin... who had whiskey. It began with a couple of mouthfuls, it ended in a couple of glasses (one of which poured by me... big mistake) and eventually me and my cousin's boyfriend (Gav, he was one of the first people I started talking to) eating raw chicken.

We didn't actually know the chicken was raw when we eat it... seriously, we didn't. It was there so we eat it.

What made me laugh is when I walked outside to meet my girlfriend to have about four people say "DUDE! GAV'S EATING RAW CHICKEN!". I'm standing there with a half eaten raw chicken in my hand. My reply was this:

"*raises chicken, takes bite out of chicken* Point in question?".

Everybody laughed and it was left upon mine and Gav's shoulders to worry about our health. Immediately Gav asked my Nana whether or not it was in fact raw. My Nana gave her typical over complicated answer.

"Well, if it was on the tray which is resting on one of the chairs in the front room the chances are it is raw, or if it's red in the middle, it's raw but you should be fine as Salmonella isn't as common in white meat."

Gav turned slightly white (Which would have made him unlikely to catch Salmonella as it's not as common in white meat) and then threw the rest of his chicken into the fire.

I continued eating mine.

Later on in the night the Jack Daniels had began making me slightly ill and I felt like throwing up... maybe it was the chicken? No, it was the whiskey, I don't drink it as often as I used to, so I think my tolerance may have slipped (about fucking time).

The next day I went over to my Nana’s to pick up my brothers bike.

Interesting fact: My brother is six. This is a BMX for a six year old. With lights. And a bell that rings. And things to make it look good. But it's small as fucking hell, and I had to ride the damned thing about three fucking miles.

Anyway, Steph and Gav were there. Steph looked fine, Gav looked rather ill... strange. He told me that he believed he was dying of Salmonella. I laughed and promptly went into the front room to get more food... though Gav was ill, when he realised there was more food he eat like a motherfucker. Then complained his stomach hurt.

Good ol' Gav.

Eventually Steph pissed off and came back with babies! Yay babies!

Then I remembered how much one of them liked to bounce... followed by being thrown into the air... and I was always the victim of this bounce-fly exercise. Now remember, I smoke too much, rarely leave the house, drink too much, don't sleep properly and don't have a healthy diet. This means I'm lazy and unfit! Yet, the baby (I can't remember which one, I think it's Joshy... I can't tell twins ;_;. NOTE: It is Nathan! I have been taught by a higher life form which is which!) tortures me with this.

To cut a long story short, it resulted in me being half dead and collapsing in the hospital room after being diagnosed with the universal problem known as OH GOD NO! NOT MORE BOUNCING BABIES! Syndrome.

I've months left to live.