Wow, people genuinly can be nice... (10/08/07)

I've lived by the rule of people being arseholes for the best part of my teenage life, and for the most part I still believe I'm right.

Today is saturday... technically sunday, but I'm still working from yesterday's clock. My cousin phoned me and asked me if I wanted to go out, my girlfriend allowed me to drink (despite my giving up alcohol... nothing like support, is there?) and off I went! I've only had a couple of pints, therefore I'm still sober, however I'm drunk enough not to actually give a shit.

I met my cousin at Haymarket metro station, went along to Luckies bar and proceeded to have a glass of double vodka and red... something or other, I don't remember, my memory has always been a crock of shit. Anyways, I had, what they called John Smiths (though it tasted more like lager) and proceeded to go and meet a friend of a friend in the notorious Bigg Market of Newcastle Upon Tyne. Now, I shaved my head and religously wear my Leather Jacket, therefore I look quite scary.

New paragraph.

However! A certain fat fuck of a bouncer didn't seem to think so! He asked my friend for identification, proving he was of legal age to drink (Please note: He was in perfect hearing range of me when I said "You go and get Tim, Me, Dom and Swalesy will stay out here."), and my friend (Bailey) gave him such identification! Apparantly, 18 years of age (the legal age of alcohol consumption in Britain) was not good enough in a bar that only allowed 'over 21's'.

This annoyed me, but I cared a lot less as Bailey attempted to phone Tim.

Remember, I had no intention at all of going into this shitty nightclub. Even for the Bigg Market, it was a heap of shit.

I stood talking to Dom and Swalesy for a bit and suddenly a bouncer (A fat fucker) decided that he didn't like 'the cut of my jip', as it were, and decided to engorge in an argument with me! According to him, I was flailing my arms around in the air while calling his good friend (the skinny fucker) every bad thing ever to exist under the sun.

At the time, we were actually talking about Tim hurrying up so we could top up our alcohol-blood levels.

Anyway, he asked me if I would enjoy a swing at him (For all of those who don't quite understand English slang, that is "If I would enjoy to punch him."), I admitted that I would love to, if only he would walk around the back of the pub with me.

You should know by now I have little to no respect for bouncers (See "I admit it, DragonForce really is a good band." in... February?), and this fucker was exactly the same. He backed down until I walked away... then he opened his mouth again. I turned and told him (in as many words) to 'Fuck off'. He took the hint and said not a word.

Nothing much happened until we left a bar called Trillians, assuming to get into a club called 'Krash', or 'The Venue'.

REMEMBER! If they put the stamp on your hand, you're as good as in!

I've never had an issue with getting into Krash... ever! I first went when I was like, 15! I had a skinhead then (as I do now, the hair is long gone) and they let me in, now? I'm too young!

I gave the fuckers my Student I.D! Not valid.

I gave them my birth certificate! Not valid.

To prove my name, I gave a recent bank statement! Still did not prove I was 18.

... what the fuck?

I asked them to phone the police! Oh no, they couldn't do that.

REMEMBER! My hand was already stamped at this point, they stamped my hand and THEN asked for I.D!

Oh!

ALSO REMEMBER! They have my C.V (Resumé) as I'm currently seeking employment... they couldn't deny the fact I was 18!

Anyway, under the assumption that the stamp granted access, I entered... to be punched by the bouncer.

What did I do? I hit the fucker back, is what I did! The arsehole knows me and he still denied me access! After a swift kick in the balls, my steel capped boots proved the betters of him and he went down like a bag of shit in a very high gravitational enviroment.

Motherfucker start shit with me, I'll kill him!

My dad (who joined us at Trillians) naturally kicked off as he had paid the both of us in (Granted, they gave him the money back, but still, I was assaulted by a QUALIFIED BOUNCER!). I phoned Dom off my dads phone to tell him that I'd had a bit of an argument with the bouncer and that I'd gone home. On the way to the Taxi Rank me and my father met a pisshead!

As it happens a rather nice and genuine pisshead.

Anyway, my dad started talking to him and I soon followed suit. He was pissed off after being attacked by a bunch of students (coming out of the only student bar that isn't built into a college/university), and having his shirt ripped off in the fray. I naturally pittied him and even offered my own shirt off my own back for him to save him walking about without... well, anything on top, really.

After about 15 minutes my dad went to order a taxi as this guy (Rob, his name was) showed me his tattoo's. One for each of his two daughters, one for his woman and one for his aunty. The only reason I began writing this entry is because of this guy, he really sobered me up.

I believe tattoo's to be a tribal and almost spiritual thing, which is why I've not had one yet (despite the opportunities to get them done). The one tat I've really wanted in a long time is Mjollnir (Thor's Hammer) on my left breast (on my heart, which is to prove my devotion to Odinism) and this guy had the tat for is aunty (by far the most grand and, quite literally, beautiful) on his left breast.

Story is, his mother was a bit of a bitch (like 70% of women) and he ended up closer to his aunty than he really should have been. I understood this as for a long time I've felt it was easier to talk to my Nanna than my mother... don't ask me why. Anyway, they always said that they would always get married (assumably a joke... otherwise it was just nasty...) and he was asked (by his cousin's) to be a Pall (sp?) Bearer at his aunt's funeral... she had, at this point, died of cancer... something nobody should ever have to go through.

He agreed and couldn't remember anything about that funeral... simply because he was saying to himself over and over again; "I always thought I'd take you down the aisle... but never in this way...". I hate to say it but tears stung my eyes. I don't think I've ever had an issue with death but him saying this to me reminding me of my Grandma's death. She died of cancer and (though young) it brought all those memories back to me. Watching her lie in her bed (which was brought downstairs, into the living room) with (what I now know as) the death rattle shaking her body.

At the time, I just wanted her to cough... I thought it was a symptom of a phlegmy throat.

I remembered vividly her last words to me, which was quite simply, "I love you, be successful."... shit, at that age, I didn't even know what that meant! Success? Just another word I had to look up. I was certain no tears leaked down my cheeks, but it was enough to make me feel it.

Anyway, it ended up in him taking my hand and putting it on his tattoo (On the left breast, for his aunty). To me that meant more than anything I'd ever wanted. That was true acceptance. By placing my hand on that tattoo that meant the memory of his aunt, his two daughters (which he actually said) and most of all his heart.

As homosexual as this sounds, it's actually very deep and meaningful.

The word 'gay' meant nothing at that point in time. His heart was marked by ink, and my hand was on it... I don't care what anybody says, that was a beautiful moment. To be able to meet somebody so pure as to be able to do and understand what he did to me takes a lot of time and effort. He was a true person and a person who would accept anybody if they proved themselves to him. He is somebody all should want to be like.

Nobody in this world is important until they understand the value of human life, you aren't any better than me (of course I'm better than you, but shit! I'm fucking Thump!) and you aren't any better than anybody else, be yourself and take people for what they are. If they're arseholes, kick their fucking arse in the name of truth. If they're genuine, savour them... you won't meet many of those people in your lifetime.

Just think about that before your emails come flooding at me.

If you don't make rock music, you aren't really a rock star! (11/07/07)

I'm sick to death of people calling the likes of Amy Whinehouse, Pete Doherty, Robbie Williams, Towers of London, Busted, McFly and other such cock jockeys being called 'rock stars'. Rock star's are the likes of the Rolling Stones, Bob Dylan, Deep Purple, Rush, The Beatles, Elvis, Johnny Cash... y'know, people who had talent! Taking drugs and being idiots don't make you rock stars.

Especially not when you look like Amy Whinehouse (I am in no way saying that Keith Richards is good looking but shit, she is a fucking dog...).

Come on, she appeared on a gameshow (Never Mind the Buzzcocks) and spat on the stage... that isn't being a rebel, that's just being a general twat. Robbie Williams walked into a nightclub in Newcastle (on our infamous Quayside), a club named 'Sea'. Anyway, my Uncle was working on the doors (he's a bouncer... and a fucking big one at that) and had to throw the fucker out because he came in, sat down, ordered a drink (Whiskey or some shit, I don't know) and knocked up a big ol' line of coke on the counter.

And Lilly Allen will never be a rock star no matter how many Synths she might think look professional. Remember, no matter how awesome a Moog might look on your stage, you will never be able to play it in the same way that Rush or Pink Floyd could. You're making Mr. Moog himself cry and turn in his grave. Oh, and if you're a session musician (or in the band) of one of these so-called 'rock stars', you really aren't a musician. You're a twat.

And if you're British? And you do this whole 'accent rap'... which I think is actually a destruction of the Brummy (Birmingham, for anybody who doesn't know the Limey accent borders) accent. It's quite scary, seriously. "Bat oi fink yor mayt is mach fittar!"... actual lyrics, don't actually know who sang them, don't really care!

You see, Lilly Allen can vaguely pull it off. Why? Because (I'm still slightly unsure, but I think) that she can actually sing... that's about it. I still think her head should be entered into a cement mixer and held there until it sets.

If you happen to be one of the 'rock stars' of today, and you take drugs? Keep taking them until your body gives in. If you aren't? Just kill yourself.

I apologise on behalf of every British man, woman or child for Americas new immigrants and my Girlfriend is better than yours (27/07/06)

(Part 1)

I'm serious... I thought we had it rough when Jade Goody somehow won Big Brother and became the media's favourite walking Kebab, but then the Beckhams moved to Barcelona... no problem there, then. We got rid of the fucker, only to hear about Mr. Beckham during the World Cup and his occassional instance on the back page because he had scored a penalty (about fucking time) for his foreign team.

Then they moved to America.

Suddenly every British newspaper was flooded with "Beckhams' move to L.A!", "Posh is hounded with press over move!" and other such bollocks. Now, usually I only buy newspapers for the crossword (unless it's The People. Every Sunday they have a fact sheet about random things that I think is just wonderful! ...now they need a crossword), but it's really difficult not to get into the hype, y'know?

I mean seriously, who can resist "Posh buys blow up sex doll and fools press with it!".

Because the 'press' obviously weren't paid actors, now were they? How can you mistake a blow up sex doll with Victoria Beckham? For one thing, the doll has more fat on it.

The giveaway for me was when the body guards were seen indecently groping Mrs. Beckham as they helped her along on the street... y'know, because blow up sex dolls can't walk. Although it was funny when the American Officials wouldn't let a paid actor work for the DMV... now you can get a real taste of Americana! Now, all I know about the DMV is that it's the American equivilent to the DVLA... which gladly isn't as bad as half the stories I've heard from a lot of Americans.

Apparantly, if you go to the DMV you might as well bring the family for a picnic. Don't let yourself count the hours, though! You don't want to admit to spending 15 hours with your divorced wife and bastard child!

Anyway, watching Victoria run around the counter to look at the picture (that she fucking pouted for... it's a fucking driving licence!) and asked if she could have it taken again? Pure comical genius, let me tell you. "Erm, ma'am? This is the DMV... I don't actually have the time to retake your photo, nor do I have the time for anyone else.". Classic.

Even funnier than that, was when she was pulled over. "It was terrible!" She says, wiping the vomit from her chin, "I didn't know whether to cry or pose!" ...personally, I would have took his gun and shot him in the head for being such a feckless idiot and for not having a fucking clue about life in the real world. To make matters worse, so many idiots in America want to be like her... I mean, fuck me... seriously... like that?!

Please... PLEASE don't become like her.

Ever.

It's just not fair on your friends or families... seriously.

But the funniest thing about all this? You can't accept David Beckham into your country... he's annoying enough, I know... but if you take him in? You have to take a skinny has been popstar in too! What a great deal! Get a metrosexual footballer and a skinny annoying cow as well!

Yay!

Don't get me wrong, now. I would fuck Victoria Beckham... but only to stick my fingers up her arse and wipe her excretion (provided she eats enough to be processed into shit) all over her face. Then? Then I would dye her hair bright blue, with permanent dye, you understand - leaving her with no choice but to leave her dye in, let it grow out naturally or shave it off.

I love my brain.

I really don't have much against David Beckham besides the fact that I want him dead... and I only want him dead because I really don't like the guy. He's just got one of those faces you want to smash against a brick wall... and he married an idiot like Victoria Beckham.

I'll leave this section with a quote from (possibly) the most annoying person in the world.

"It's so exhausting being fabulous."

Try it once in a while, love. You'll feel better for it.

(Part 2)

My girlfriend really does >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Yours. Why? As part of our one year anniversary present, you know what she bought me? Prince of Persia the Sands of Time, a game that infuriated me because it wouldn't work on my computer, now it infuriates me because I can't do the bastard game, Broken Sword 1 & 2, because I never played either of them with video/speech... and I've never quite completed BS2 because my version was fucked and didn't include the last level.

And the best of all.

*Drum roll*

Sonic Mega Collection Plus!

Fuck me! How I love revisiting the best part of my youth, and how better to do it than with Sonic?! I forgot quite how good of a platformer this game was right after Sega killed him off by making him three dimensional (in men, that's supposed to be a good thing (See Mario), in hedgehogs? ...it's not so great) and then gave Shadow a game... great. Shadow the Hedgehog was probably the final nail in Sega's coffin.

All the PSO in the world won't save them after that abomination.

The best part about SMCP? It has the Game Gear games on it! Sonic Chaos, I'm coming for you!

Then... then I remembered how difficult Sonic is without a controller... then I remembered how easy it is to hate Sonic... especially after I first heard that terrifying melody... the drowning theme... in only the second level. Chemical Plant Zone act 2... and I heard it. I lost my two of my lives out of sheer panic. Then Dr. Robotnik (IT IS NOT EGGMAN, IT WILL NEVER BE EGGMAN, STOP CALLING HIM EGGMAN) terrified me with a boss fight WITH water... and then I had a psychotic episode when I realised what was the third level.

Aqua Ruins Zone.

For the idiots among you, Aqua is also known as "water", in Sonic the Hedgehog, the word "water" is also known as "a terrifying, ungodly death".

Then what happened? I remembered you can't save. I don't even remember if you have a password option after X amount of levels completed (I actually know you don't, but I'm too scared to admit it to myself).

So, I'm going to go and play some Sonic.

Enjoy yourself!

(Part 3: Bonus Section)

I'm getting the intarwebs back. I've turned 18. I'm getting it out in my name as my parents pay the bill. I fucking win.

Now, I'm going to go and play some Sonic.

Enjoy yourself!

That's right, I forgot I hated people. (25/07/07)

So, I got a phone call off of Briggsy, right? Y'know, the guy who I wrote about one entry ago? Anyway, he said "Dude, party at mine! B.Y.O.B! Bring Alex! Oh, it's fancy dress!" right? Now, as you all know, I'm a borderline alcoholic as it is, however what you may not know is my hatred for humanity... well, the alcohol has killed enough braincells to get rid of that hatred.

Now, I had twenty pounds which doesn't go very far when it comes to buying alcohol... unless you're buying from Netto, or (as I chose) out of date beer. Eight cans of Murphys Stout, I was also drinking on Pro Plus (which as I learned is a bad idea). Now, a drunken Viking is to be expected. A drunken Christian, however... that's just damn funny. Even funnier is when said drunken Christian is arrested for none other than - believe it or not - drunken disorderly.

Anyway, nothing much happened apart from me explaining toungue piercings to Briggsy's girlfriend (Teigan), and having a theological debate with a woman (She was Buddhist) about why Odinism > All. I don't actually remember much of that. I remember almost throwing up as I took a shot of Tequila covered in salt... and tasted salt for the next hour and a half (how I wasn't sick is beyond me, all I know is that I really disliked salty Tequila, smokes and stout).

Anyway, somebody threw the fuck up all over the nice clean beige carpet... which I actually found quite funny... mainly because for once it wasn't me! Oh, the drunken Christian blew the lightbulb in the living room by smashing the Guitar Hero guitar off it... unintentionally of course.

Funniest thing of all was when my girlfriend wanted to go to the 24 hour garage. This was when the serious fun kicked off. She was upstairs for some reason or another and wanted me upstairs, so I went up like an obedient little drunken monkey. I asked for a hug before she went and she (jokingly) said "No, I don't want to hug you!", naturally I retorted with "Give me a fucking hug, woman!" only to have some little fucktard (who was standing behind me) shout "Don't you fucking dare talk to a woman like that!".

Does this motherfucker understand the meaning of that rare, but beautiful word: "Joke"? Alex actually laughed and gave me a hug and kiss about a second before this fucker said that shit to me. Naturally, I turned around and said: "I very much beg your fucking pardon? You're telling me not to have a joke with my girlfriend?", he realised that he had in fact made a mistake and apologised... for the moment. Just as well, really. There was an open window with a rather nice drop directly behind him.

More shit went on in the night and I challenged some girl to disprove the fact that she was skinnier than me. She laughed at my remark and immediately set out to become the skinnier of the two skinny fuckers. Alex (whom was on the other side of the room) said something about a 28 inch waist being a size 10 in womans clothing. I turned to her, raised my voice so she could hear me over the din of the party and said "Okay babe, thank you, now shush!" again, it was said in a humerous tone.

Again... "I fucking told you once before, don't you fucking dare talk to a woman like that!". This time? I fucking snapped. I had enough to drink to not care about what trouble I got into, but I hadn't had enough not to care about what trouble Briggs gets into. You can't explain away dried blood on a beige carpet, now can you?

"And I've fucking told you once before, don't you fucking dare talk to me like that! If I had fucking tits and a cunt you wouldn't talk to me like that, because in your eyes, if you have tits and a fucking cunt you're a perfect fucking being!". By this point the people who knew me realised I was about to grab this fucker by the throat and smash his face against my fist. They knew I meant buisness.

It's also worth noting that Alex had mysteriously dissapeared when this kicked off.

"You don't raise your voice to a woman!"

"You don't raise your fucking voice to me, dipshit. Take a fucking walk with me, I'll show you who the fuck you're dealing with."

By this point, I was the bastard, almost everybody at that party thought me some kind of wife beater... which I'm not. I've grown up with that shit and I'm not going to fucking do what I've been afraid of all my life, am I?

"Who the fuck do you think you are?" said the homosexual.

"Everything you could ever dream to be, now talk to me with a bit of fucking respect or I'll rip your fucking throat out."

By this point a metrosexual barman who could only get a job in Ibiza had jumped in front of me. A bouncer got hold of the other guy and basically demanded he shut the fuck up before I got hold of him, because if I did, I would kill him.

Sadly this fucker made the biggest mistake and basically everybody began shouting abuse at me about how I was out of order. Now, I'm sorry, but nobody deserves to feel the way I did. It was possibly the biggest mind fuck I've been in. I seriously felt like I was about 2 foot tall, not a nice place to be. I explained my place to the Ibizan Superman who wouldn't even make eye contact with me (please remember, he's English, but he can't get a job in Britain because he's an arsehole, basically).

I grabbed my shit, turned to Paddy, said I was going. He grabbed my coat and told me to ignore them and stay, he knew to let go when I said that the fucker over there is going to get strung up by his testicles and slowly disembowled with the bluntest object I can find. I said goodbye to Jacko and just as I heard "You're a fucking arsehole, I'm taking that woman from you!" I saw red. I didn't hit out at him for some reason... I think I was taken aback so much that I couldn't actually do anything. I took a couple of steps forward and said "Your time will come, and your final breath will be taken by me. It might not be now, it might not be tomorrow, but I can assure you that I'll show you pain like you've never felt before if you so much as touch my woman. You've just made your fucking funeral arrangements.".

I turned and walked... I've no idea why... I just walked. I didn't stop walking, with exception to punching the walls and garden fences (I've took my entire right arm out of action due to that). I can't even count the amount of fences I put holes in... but by the pain in my arms and state of my knuckles, I don't actually want to know.

I walked... from sunny Shiremoor to Wallsend (a good eleven or twelve mile at least) which is where I found a friend who gave me a lift to Walkergate... I then walked back from there.

I remember hearing Briggs shout my name, but he knows better than most to leave me be when I'm that pissed off. I apologise for any shit I caused you, Briggs, but that fucker needed to keep his nose out of my buisness and as I said, I wasn't going to make matters worse by disrespecting your house.

Why am I writing about this? Because of the idiocy in so many people. If you have breasts, you're just as flawed as a man. You aren't perfect, nothing is perfect. It has now been proven that woman are as equal if not more promiscuous than men. This annoys me to hell and back because I've been on the receiving end of cheating whores... however now? I think these idiotic men who think that a bad word should not be said about females should be lined up and shot. This bastard caused a huge fucking argument between me and Alex and everybody else.

If you ever read this? You are a dead man. I will fucking kill you regardless of what you say or do. You crossed the fucking line and if you come over to my side, you're signing your own death certificate. I will take your final breath. Chivalry is dead, it was never alive. It's simply a romantisised idea and for choosing such a stupid fucking stance, I'll kill you on general principle.

Moral of the story: If you have tits you're only perfect in the eyes of idiots. So do me a favour and kill them before I get hold of them.

This smoking ban sucks... (14/07/07)

Please note: Please remember, I am a drunk. At the time of this being wrote, I am drunk. Please keep this in mind as I rape the English language numerous times during this (quite short) entry.

Seriously. This is horrible... for the first time since the smoking ban, I went out for a drink... and admittedly has both its ups and downs. Allow me to describe this in two easy ways:

A- You drink quicker in order to have a smoke quicker, therefore you get drunk quicker.

B- You can't smoke while having a quiet pint.

Though I am more drunk after three pints than I think I ever have been... I only had three smokes (I really can't spell the correct word for it now, as I can't quite remember if it's double 'g' or 't'... so fuck you.) and drank three pints in about 45 minutes.

I beg of you Mr. Gordon Brown, please recall the smoking ban... I will do any sexual act you wish... please?