Promo Video #2

I'm going to Devon for 5 days with no internet, have something to keep you amused until I get back.

Guest Writer: Opiate of the Asses

In his novel The Restaurant at the End of the Universe, Douglas Adams describes the man rules the entirety of the universe. The man lives in a ramshackle hut on a hidden planet, completely oblivious to the fact that his decisions affect the universe as a whole. He lives simply, taking literally nothing for granted. He is the pure quintessence of a scientist, believing in nothing, not what he sees, hears, feels, not even his own memory. He expects nothing, every action and reaction is a new and delightful discovery.

However, the interesting thing is, Douglas Adams implies that this man is completely aware of the subtleties around him, subtleties that could only be recognized with an understanding of the world beyond simply taking the world at face value. For instance, this excerpt.

“He picked up from the table a piece of paper and the stub of a pencil. He held one in one hand and the other in the other, and experimented with the different ways of bringing them together. He tried holding the pencil under the paper, then over the paper, then next to the paper. He tried wrapping the paper round the pencil, he tried rubbing the stubby end of the pencil against the paper. It made a mark, and he was delighted with the discovery, as he was every day. He picked up another piece of paper from the table. This had a crossword on it. He studied it briefly and filled in a couple of clues before losing interest.”

-The Restaurant at the End of the Universe by Douglas Adams

Chapter 28

His purely scientific nature shows through most of the paragraph, except in the last sentence. Obviously, he would need some knowledge of literature, spelling, and at least a little knowledge of the world to be able to fill out crossword clues. This idea is stressed even more when he allows Trillian and Zaphod to slip away unnoticed, leaving Zarniwoop locked outside, stranded on the planet in the pouring rain. The man then willfully ignores Zarniwoop’s angry knocking on the door by talking to his table.

The man’s duality of reality, his two-faced experience of the world has many different explanations, and raises some troubling questions. The most likely explanation, though the most bland, is simply that the man is insane, and his moments of clarity result in him acting normally, like any of us. Perhaps he grew weary of the isolation on the barren planet, and his scientific nature is merely a way for him to pass the time, to keep himself amused, and his moments of normality are realizations that even he must come back to the reality forced upon all of us. Or perhaps Douglas Adams means to imply that even the most scientific of us have biases and realities hidden underneath the faces we show society. Perhaps he means to imply that even the most perfect of us cannot escape the human condition. Perhaps he means to imply that no matter who we are, no matter how objective we claim or want to be, we are slaves to the knowledge we have, to the way society tempered us, to the way we were raised, what we were taught and what we think we know. Perhaps the man who rules the universe is attempting to escape those fetters in his isolation, to become the perfect unbiased being, trying to achieve some sort of enlightenment from nonbelief instead of belief. If so, even he realizes what a fruitless endeavor that is.

So,

Such a duality, the realization of multiple levels of reality, the acceptance of perspectives and biases, and the attempts at rationalization and scientific endeavor, are trademarks of my writing. They are my literary watermarks, my personal philosophies, my written ideas. I am the Opiate of the Asses. Like you, the reader, I am only human, but this is what I have to offer; my ideas. Like the man who rules the universe, I am aware of my biases and faults, yet I attempt to remain aloof and scientific. If you think like me, if you like what you’ve read here, then I invite you to follow me.

Welcome to the reality of the Opiate of the Asses.

http://opiateoftheasses.blogspot.com/

Promo Video

Whilst writing the next blog (to be with you soon!), I decided to take a break and make a promotional video for my blog, and here it is. Let me know what you think in the comments below!

#trashtag

Hashtags. A clever and easy way to see how many people are talking about a particular subject. Works brilliantly well on twitter, about as useful as a cock-flavoured lollipop on facebook. They don't work there! There is no point in putting hashtags on your statuses or photos, it will have the same result as attempting to chop down a tree with your penis. Until recently that is. As it turns out, I am indeed capable of felling trees using just my member...

Obviously that is a lie. I actually meant that old facey-b has now introduced a hashtag function in a not so veiled attempt to rip off twitter. As much as I don't give a flying fuck about how you just ate an apple or which disgustingly wealthy black man Kim Kardashian is currently getting boned by, hashtags were the only thing twitter had going for it. Now that has been cruelly ripped away from them like candy from an obese baby. 

However, just because there is now a point to it doesn't mean it needs to be done! One or two are acceptable at a push but #hashtagging #every #word makes you look like a dick. Use sensible ones as well, names and places etc. are fine, hashtags such as #nomnom and #imthebestttt are not.

I used to think that emoticons were almost as bad as hashtags, if not worse. Now I must admit that I use these to a massive extent. Anyone that talks to me on the internet will attest that I use the :P face ALL THE TIME. In fact, I probably use some sort of emiticon in almost every message. My excuse for this is that I am a massively sarcastic bastard and need a way to show that I am joking, not that I am being a huge nob. Although, most of you probably think there isn't much of a difference!

Another previously hated now very much used internet phenomenon is 'LOL'. As you all know, this stands for laugh out loud and is commonly used as a response to a joke or to show you are not being serious. Now, how often do you actually laugh out loud at something on the internet? Very rarely. Exactly. Most of the time you make a strange snorting noise. As such I propose a new acronym. Something along the lines of MSN (makes snort noise) or WHS (weird hnn sound). 

Despite my use of LOL, I find extensions and exaggerations ridiculous. Have you ever ROFLed or LMAOed? No, no you haven't. If you ended up rolling on the floor laughing from anything on the internet (with the exception of this blog) then you probably aught to get checked out by a doctor. If you manage to laugh your entire arse off then I would definitely recommend it. Until I see either of these scenarios happening I will continue to brand them as stupid and brainless like the people that use them. And if I do see them? Well, I'll be more than happy to gun you all down in my ROFLcopter.

The delightful delights of daytime TV

What with being on holiday and currently unemployed, I have a lot of time for day time television. And it's bollocks! I mean REALLY bad! If it wasn't for Wimbledon then I would probably have a job already. As it is, I am forced to watch such viewing delights as Saints & Scroungers, SuperScrimpers and Fantasy Homes by the Sea. I know I'm not really the target audience for these shows but still, does anyone find these genuinely engaging? I'll do a little run down of these shows for those of you who have a job/school/a life. Saints & Scroungers features an annoying bald man who talks to shmucks that have been ripped off. While it is terrible that these poor people have had all their money stolen, giving your bank details to a wealthy Nigerian businessman who would like to share his lottery winnings with you is a very stupid thing to do. As such, you almost deserve to have it taken away from you so you don't do anything else. SuperScrimpers is worse, Mrs Moneypenny (blatant infringement) attempts to reuse teabags and pick up coppers from pavements. On the other end of the scale, Fantasy Homes is a programme about people with more money than I will ever own in my life flashing that money in my face like a swollen testicle and pissing it away on horrendously expensive houses.

As we all know, the king of daytime TV, the jewel in its crown if you will, is the Jeremy Kyle show. Or in other words, a broadcasted advert for social Darwinism. I've realised that the JK show is nothing to do with the class system or anything, it is in fact just stupid people. Stupid people with no ambition or drive who spend all their time at home drinking and having sex (actually, that second bit sounds a little like me, minus the sex). Then instead of sorting out their problems like normal, civilised people they go and do it on screen. I would go as far to describe it as the modern day equivalent of gladiatorial combat performed by monkeys; chimps in nylon tracksuits flinging their own faeces at each other. I have no problem with anyone that has a desire to better themselves but that lot? Maybe the gene pool could do with a little chlorine.

Then of course, we have the adverts. If you wanted a break from all the mind-numbing shit you certainly won't get it during the advert breaks. As far as I can gather, advertisers think that anyone watching TV between the hours of 10:30 and 3 are bloated females with lady problems that require a few quid to play their bills (also the plot of a particular 'movie' I watched the other day) or over 50s looking for car insurance or a small African child (a movie which would get you arrested). I can assure you I am neither. Nor am I wishing to sue the world after being injured at work or claim PP-fucking-I on some sodding loan that I never took out.

Next week I will do something slightly more worthwhile for example get a job, or build a church, or hammer nails into my eyeballs. It will be more interesting than watching the same old shit.

Guest Writer: WingManning #1

Accept it. Clubs are dumb and so are you.

As Bon Jovi once wrote a song to those who mine for miracles, this blog also goes out to the ones in need. Those with the need to understand two things. 

1) Clubbing as a practise is inherently ridiculous 

2) Getting over that fact and probably yourself whilst your at it means I will hate you slightly less than I already do. 

Let's deconstruct what going out is as a process. As a guy you put on a shirt before putting on the music you are about to go and listen to in a sweaty pit loudly, for a few hours, on in your friend's room loudly for a few hours. 

Girls generally make more effort, not being sexist it's just true, by applying face paints designed to make you more attractive. Something of unnecessary effort since the average guy in a club has the bearing, conversational capacity and odour of a randy chimpanzee. Only a chimpanzee wouldn't be seen dead doing that stupid t-shirt with rolled up sleeves thing like a massive wanker. 

You know who you are.

You massive wanker. 

Of course part of the ludicrousness of clubbing is this pre-drinks ritual. It's a ritual because of the slightly religious elements of Ring of Fire. Implausible metaphysical laws inscribed on cards which have rules passed down from who-knows-where and can be invoked by someone with god-given unchallengeable authority. And like all good religious texts it comes with hearty punishments. They come in the forms of fingers to be drunk, drinks to be downed or most common, the divulgence of a fairly dull story accompanied by a loss of dignity. 

Of course once you've done "Never Have I Ever" more than twice the novelty wears off. Perhaps more interesting a game is "Never Would I Ever". Plus that could come with amusing benefits. 

If a young Josef Fritzl at university had drunk at "Never would I ever tie my daughter up in a basement for 24 years and rape her repeatedly until I got a secret cellar family I for some totally inexplicable reason wanted out of her" we might have seen that incident coming. 

And like religions, predrinks have a habit of pissing off almost everyone outside of your circle. If not women or gays but neighbours. 

Student house and hall walls are thin and music such as Skrillex has the penetrative capacity and melody of a powerdrill. What of course makes these audio nails even sweeter is the fact that people then try and converse over them. 

Here's a tip. Don't. Stop shouting. Stop competing with a box designed to play loud noises loudly and turn the loud noises off when you want to communicate. 

Or better still fuck off out.

Of course the reason for the existence of predrinks is essentially to anaesthetist yourselves before going to a club with cheap vodka rather than prescription medication. Alcohol inherently makes you more stupid than you otherwise would be. Often you cannot express yourself ably, you lack tact, and as a guy sometimes forget how to direct your streams of urine. So why do we drink it?

Firstly it's boring psychological stuff probably. About being more open (obnoxious) and lowering your inhibitions (standards). 

Secondly it's the fault of clubs themselves. The place where ironically most "socials" end up is a deafening sweaty hole in an old warehouse where you gyrate in silence, or bleat along to the vacuous crap produced by French DJs like David Guetta and occasionally good stuff like the Backstreet Boys. 

Within moments you're sweating more than a choirboy alone in a refectory with a Catholic Priest whilst being buffeted by various human equivalents of Shrek all wearing t-shirts with the sleeves rolled up a bit more than they were already. (I still really don't get why people do that. It really can't be ventilation. I can only assume inbreeding.)

Sobriety in such places makes Guantanamo Bay look like a luxury cruise liner. It is a case where literally having all of your senses functioning in a reasonable capacity leads to extreme physical and mental discomfort. 

You get three kinds of such people in these places: Aloof divas, rapey zombies, and fun people.

The aloof divas are the ones who take it too seriously. The ones who will not dance any more than waving a hand or two whilst doing an Orlando Bloom impression with slightly fewer expressions. As in looking into the middle distance with a blankness which is nothing short of terrifying. People for whom clubbing is clearly a big deal and they must be seen to be cool. 

A piece of advice. You look like an arsehole up your own arsehole - a form of arseholeception which only a Human Centipede remake starring George Osborne, Piers Morgan and Ed Balls could trump in arseholery. Of course seeing as it least two of them were privately educated this has probably already been achieved.

Ironically it is this sort of person who is most targeted by the rapey zombie, often a guy or a really lecherous woman  who sees orifice and targets like a heat-seeking missile. The sort of people who think groping arses is fine if a girl is wearing a short skirt. 

It's not. It's really not. 

They'll often claim drunken ignorance, hence the somewhat zombie-like qualities; the stumbling gait, unfocused eyes and the charm of a reanimated decomposing corpse. 

Then finally you get fun people. The sort who decide the rowing boat, sitting on the floor of a club, is always acceptable. Considering this normally involves sitting in an inch of what you hope is alcohol this is serious dedication. 

Or the kinds of people who flail about like a mime on acid, dance with their friends regardless of how ridiculous they may look and try not to bother other people. "The walls are closing in on me but I'm just loving the rhythm!" Is one way of describing it the movements created.

In such an environment these people have the responsibility to set an example. One such way of making things more fun is an impromptu conga line.

Conga lines combined with Dad dancing at a 1970s wedding are brilliant. 

However beware the forces of reaction. Threats such as these are official photographers (who for some reason hate blurry photobombers) or aggressive hipsters. Asking the person in question if the glasses they are wearing are actually medically necessary also does not help. Indeed although highly amusing, it raises the chances of you being abused or punched in the face. 

I posit no answers to the eternal question "Oh what's the bloody point then?" here. Indeed that's because I don't have them. 

I don't think any part of me will understand why the world one day suddenly went 'Ooh these sweaty noise pits are a great idea!' But it did. So we're stuck. 

Stuck at 2am gyrating as if being sodomised by invisible demons in alternating twilight and flashing neon as Nicki Minaj, arguably the worst human being alive right now, and her incomprehensible lyrics are pumped at your head from on high. 

The very nature of the places are daft, as is most of the conduct within them and the whole exercise around them. 

But the recurring nightmare can only continue.

My advice?

Have a drink. As God knows it's about the only way to make the entire experience anything close to bearable.

*Yes I am aware I sound like a middle-aged alcoholic. Blame the system. 

It's Been A Wheely Long Time

On 21st May 2013, the day when the #bloodycyclists hashtag went viral on twitter, I was cut up by a bus, almost hit by a car and nearly cycled over a pedestrian. I can guess your reaction was somewhere along the lines of:

 "What treacherous road were you on Will? Surely it must have been a one-off. What would we read in the evenings if you got hurt?" 

Well, thanks for your concern but this is very much an everyday occurrence when traversing the curry mile. It seems very few people in this area of Manchester know how to drive very well. Let me give you a little lesson on how to drive:

1) Indicate - This allows other road users to know where the fuck you are going so I don't almost T-bone your stupid, white BMW. 

2) Park properly - The bike lane is for bikes, it is NOT somewhere you can leave your car for ten minutes meaning I get sandwiched between your stupid, white BMW and a bus.

3) Don't get a stupid, white BMW - especially one with a personalised number plate, you just look like a knob.

A little consideration goes a long way. If I didn't feel like these people were actively trying to kill me on my route to uni then I might care a little more when I knock their wing-mirror off. If you know the curry mile then you will know the people I mean and the ethnic background they are from. I'm not saying it is all drivers and I'm not saying that all drivers from this background are shit either, but there does seem to be a correlation of sorts. 

Maybe it is something in the water as the pedestrians aren't any better. The number of times someone has stepped out in front of me and forced me to slam on the brakes is phenomenal. However, it's the ones that walk ON the cycle paths that do my nut in. In fact, I would go as far as to buy all of these morons a headband to keep their sweaty bollocks out of their eyes. Testicles blocking their vision is the only reason I can think of that they might walk in the cycle path when there is a perfectly serviceable pavement 3 yards away.

From a driver's point of view though, I can see why they think cyclists are twats. Even I think most of them are. There are two types of cyclists who are particularly despised. Firstly, those who have the fancy bike and all the lycra and use it to cycle 10 minutes round the corner. Yeah, you know who you are. You, who spent two grand on a bike and ride it to the shops and back. The joke is on you though, we can all see how small your cock is. Now go and shave your legs again.

Secondly there are the ones that have no regard for the highway code at all. I've seen some morons totally jump a red light across a busy road. Personally I don't understand it. Hopefully though it will lead to some form of Darwinism, clearly if you think its a good idea to cross a road through traffic then you deserve to have your brain removed by a bus.

Intermission

Blah. Revision sucks balls. Screw this. Failing anyway. McDonalds are hiring. Become a hermit. Exams are pointless. I just want to sleep. Bring on the summer. BBRU3AZ4JE9Z. *Slams face on keyboard* basd;ofaj#[pY aa4e6ioqj:@;1

Rant over.

Be back soon.

Bang, bang! You're using a plastic gun.

What the fuck is the world coming to? I’m sure many of you will have seen over the last few days that an American company has released the pattern to a gun you can make in your own home. All you need to do this is a 3D printer. In a country that has an endemic gun problem apparently the best remedy is to provide access to more guns. Let me give you a comparison:

“Doctor! Doctor!  I think I have an addiction to sex!”

“Here let me see what I can do.” As he proceeds to shove his member down your throat.

Doesn’t quite work really, does it? On average there are about 33,000 deaths per year in the USA, be they murders, suicides or accidental shootings. That is almost the same number of deaths caused by traffic accidents. It is also about the population of Herne Bay (some might ask why it never is the population of Herne Bay). Most of these guns were legal and registered. Now, for about a grand, you can piss on the rules and make your very own gun factory in your bedroom. 

"What is wrong with that Will?" I hear you cry (or probably not). "It just saves them a trip to the shop where you can get a gun as easily as a snickers bar (and for half the price, damn you Mars!).

Well, I'll tell you what's wrong with it; if you think it is ok that you can essentially download a gun as easily as you download a zip folder full of videos of large-breasted Latvian women munching rug then you'll probably fail the mental health check anyway. Although, I am not surprised that this is seen as acceptable in a country that markets a product called ‘My First Rifle’. Apparently it's to introduce children to guns slowly and gently. I'm pretty sure Joseph Kony has been doing that for decades and it was definitely frowned upon.

Do you know why we don't give five-year-olds dangerous weapons in the UK? Because it's a really fucking stupid idea! I guarantee social services will get involved if your child's next birthday present is a 2 foot bowie knife... or a python.

Now, I know how much 'Murica likes its civil liberties and democracy et cetera so I'll put it this way: 'turrorists' can make plastic guns that are undetectable in metal detectors, get on a plane, hijack it and kill the president! I know that's taking it to the extreme but oh well, still sound like a good idea?  Now your mildly psychotic, bullied schoolboy can, instead of downloading a game to take out his frustrations, download a gun to take out his frustrator. I do know the arguments for mass gun ownership, protecting your land and possessions and stuff but it does start to take the piss when a single family is better armed than a small African nation. Personally, I think that the relevant part of the constitution should be rewritten from 'the right to bare arms' to 'the right to bear arms'. It would make things a lot more interesting and a lot less deadly. You will just have to be a bit more careful when you scratch your balls.

This issue has dived head first into the 'could and should' argument like Stuart Hall into a paddling pool at a high school wet t-shirt contest. Yes, we could let people print guns but that doesn't necessarily mean we should. Just as scientists could genetically engineer a mutant zombie virus but should they actually do it? If they did then at least the nutters can use the one shot in their plastic gun to paint the wall with their own brains before the zombies use it as a chew-toy.

A load of old balls!

“Some people think football is a matter of life and death. I don't like that attitude. I can assure them it is much more serious than that.” ~ Bill Shankly

“What a load of bollocks, do we have to watch this now? Don’t you have anything better to do with your life?” ~ Most women.

A post on football (real football for any Americans reading this) has been coming for a while and I think now is as good a time as any to write it. Football is an interesting one actually, it polarises the population almost as much as deciding whether to call Piers Morgan a dick or a twat (he’s actually both). At the same time, it makes both people mad. On one side you have the dicks, those people who hate football. They get mad because the twats on the other side of the equation spend all their time going on about it while they would rather stab rusty nails through their eyelids instead of watching it. Normally this is induced by sheer boredom. The same feeling is replicated in football fans, namely Arsenal supporters, who take that line of action so they don’t have to see a Frenchman miss an open goal...twice.

The job of a footballer is to get a ball between some sticks while stopping the other team from doing the same, doesn’t really sound that hard does it? But I’ll let you into a secret... it’s not! In fact it is very easy to do; all you need to do is kick it when it gets near you. The hard bit comes when you try to do it well, like poetry, or sex. The game has advanced a long way since kicking a severed head from village to village. I for one would love to see a return to those days, especially if we could use the decapitated noggin of Robin van Purse-strings. These days all you need to do is sneeze on a footballer and they fall over clutching their face like you just slapped them with a horse’s cock.

Then there is the money, even if I shat £50 notes I probably wouldn’t make as much money in a year as a top flight player does in a week. All they do is spend it on 80-year-old hookers and bathroom fireworks (feel free to comment below if you know who I’m referring to). Can you imagine a footballer doing a proper job? I doubt half of them could even spell occupation.  

“Hello Mr Beckham, can I have four herrings please?”

“Duuuur... one.... two.... more than two.”

“The next number is three.” “Oh yeh... three.”

 “Um, that’s seems to be your wife, not a fish.”

You can even see him sticking his tongue out in sheer concentration when he tries to write his name: DAVƎ.

There’s only one thing I can finish on and that has got to be Luis Suarez. I don’t care what people say about his antics last weekend, he really took a chunk out of Chelsea’s defence and he looked so hungry to win. Seriously though, who bites people? I bit someone when I was four and then I realised it was a bad idea. I suppose there is one benefit to come from it, some players will be terrified to play against him in future, people such as Vincent Kompanini, Demba Banana and Bacary Lasagne. Whether he will still be plying his trade in England next year nobody knows, but personally I think that with this latest stunt he has bitten off more than he can chew...

Guest Writer: Bad Fresher #1

On this, my first guest appearance on Will's Blog (the first of many I hope!) I would like to point out I am the butt of many of his jokes (Hymns and Arias was a veiled attempt to piss me off!) … I am that person that Is Welsh (but not Welsh) but Welsh!... The point that I am trying to make is, that my heritage (or apparent lack of) is something I am proud of and If I chose to stand by it, as long as It doesn’t hurt, upset or unduly aggravate someone (other than perhaps Will) I see that no harm has been done, I am not misleading anyone because I have a genuine claim (however disputed).

Which was why I was so pissed off watching the Party Political broadcasts this week for the English LOCAL elections.

Now just to clarify, a LOCAL election is one in which counsellors are elected to serve in your county council, they usually are affiliated to one party or another, but they don’t have half the powers of MPs… They are essentially the teaching assistants of Government whose job it is to reflect the needs of individuals in their county and ensuring the day to day business of bin collecting runs smoothly when Whitehall isn’t looking, they have no say on foreign policy or nuclear weapons, or anything that really matters to be honest.

Like I was saying...

I was pissed off because it seems as though it has become acceptable for counsellors to apply party politics to local elections, because unlike me, they are genuinely misleading…

Take Nigel Farage, his PBB (the first one I watched on the BBC) was filled with talk about hating Europe, and lowering Immigration and featured some wishy washy people with some vague ideas about MY BRITAIN… I mean that’s all fine and dandy that you are going to cut the deficit Mr Farage, (whilst sticking up a big two fingers to “BRUSSLES”) but unfortunately you are 2 years TOO EARLY! The general election isn’t until 2015! Now, I would appreciate some policies about how you are going to fill the pot holes in my road (and no you can’t stuff them with foreigners)…Remember your LOCAL COUNSELLOR is just that, LOCAL…

“BUT ALEX” I hear you cry, UKIP are just a closet racist fringe party with no hope of any power anyway… I thought that was the case too, until I watched the Labour one… 5 minutes of the more pathetic Milliband brother whining about how when daddy escaped from the Nazis he worked hard to create a better life, and that Is why education is so important…

FOR GODS SAKE!

I mean, at least he was closer than Shifty Farage, but last time I checked Education policy, other than a bit of fund allocation stuff was dealt with in Whitehall as well…I mean I suppose he tried, but when your Brother chooses to leave to join the thunderbirds over in Tracey Island (Almost certainly a subsidiary of Guam, but that’s a different story) because he wanted to “Stop Overshadowing you” then you know that you are in trouble…

So we have two parties, one the pawn of the trade unions and the other fronted by a bigot…Just as I was about to give up, than who should pop up but Nick Clegg… Now, would I get some snappy dialogue about how a lib dem council will protect the libraries, protect the weekly bin run or offer incentives for recycling within the community?

LIKE HELL!

Everybody’s favourite U-turn starts his piece about how the Lib Dems have cut income tax by £600 per year… Going on about the economy may dupe the “vast majority” which you keep referring too, but not me

FOR FUCKS SAKE

I mean for a start, his party the minority in a coalition… which in reality means Cons call the shots, Dems make the tea…as anything the Dems claim to do has to go through the conservatives first anyway… I have a theory about the coalition, it’s like a particularly slippery bar of prison soap… if its dropped, Nick Clegg is fucked…

THE USELESS LYING BASTARD!

But secondly Income tax is a national thing set by the Government in the BUDGET… a couple of times a year the chancellor comes out of his kennel, having played fetch with a little red briefcase and parrots whatever economic shit his accountant friends tell him to say… A sensible party would have parroted on about some policies that they have actually implemented

Now, I was fully prepared to condemn the Conservatives, even though I am positively biased in their favour… and then

FUCK ME!

The first policy that the Lord High Chancellor of Posh himself talks about is CUTTING council tax!...I mean seriously, this was a party that famously gave us the POLL TAX (what a load of balls) and has been focussing on cutting services!... CONGRATULATIONS! It’s evident that Daddies Eton Education has actually worked! You have understood that the average person needs to be informed about COUNCIL policies during a LOCAL election…

And that is just about where I am going to conclude, but I leave you with this to think about…

Is it Right that our politicians should mislead the slightly less educated in politics? …Is it Ethical that Mr Farage can peddle a seemingly rational idea as something which he can achieve In the COUNCIL when in fact it is so fanciful it is borderline claptrap?

If there were an Office of Fair Politics, (WHICH THERE SHOULD BE!) after successfully punishing the Lib Dems for lying to the student population, they should move onto stopping this shit!

The Iron Lady and Slimy Dave

CLICK THIS BUTTON! >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

I debated whether or not to actually write about this subject as I didn't want to become what I was writing about in the first place. I also didn't want to offend anyone, but then I though sod it, since when have I cared about that? My topic this week was conveniently highlighted by the death of Baroness Thatcher. Mere minutes after the news emerged, facebook was full of people expressing their opinions on her and her time in office.

Now freedom of speech is a wonderful thing and it has probably saved me from being either arrested or stabbed on many occasions. However, just because you have it doesn't necessarily mean you should use it (cue huge amounts of hypocrisy). When 13-year-olds start posting stuff like ‘Thank God she’s finally gone’ and ‘Ding dong the witch is dead’ you do start to wonder how much they actually know on the subject. Here’s an idea guys, do some research or stick to the Disney channel.  Yes, she may have been the devil incarnate to some people but by hell (see what I did there?) did she rescue the country, if only in the short term. In anyone’s books, £70 billion is a lot of money to bring into the country, plus she gave the Argentineans a Great British dickslap, which on its own is a fantastic mental picture. The best David Cameron has done to protect national interests is shown a bit of arsecrack.

That’s the problem with politics these days, no one has a spine. In the blue corner we have Slimy Dave having his scrotum licked by Nick Clegg (not quite such a nice mental image) and in the red corner is the worse Miliband. They all have the personality of a wet flannel, at least back in Maggie’s day there was fire and passion! It comes to something when the favourite politician in the UK is an Orang-utan wearing a straw wig. Boris is brilliant though isn’t he, like the country’s own personal jester. It’s all an act of course, behind the bicycle heroics, love of wiff-waff and moronic exterior is a savvy and clever man. It will be an interesting election struggle if Boris becomes the Tory leader as the better Miliband, the only man capable of challenging him, has fled across the pond, presumably to escape having to watch his brother repeatedly getting fisted by the trade unions and used as a glove puppet (a really bad mental image).  It’s people like Boris that can get the youth interested in politics again instead of drinking cheap cider on street corners and knifing old ladies or, even worse, playing minecraft.

There is a danger of overdoing it though, especially at the further edges of the political spectrum. These ‘free thinkers’ and ‘revolutionaries’ who try to ‘spread the truth’ by posting photos telling us that we are living under oppression and that we are all blind to the truth do start to get annoying. Some of you might say that it is because I see the truth in their words but don’t want to accept it. No. It’s because their arguments are weak at best and at worst ridiculous. My favourite one is how the education system is essentially a filter to discard those people who can think for themselves and live outside the box. Tell you what; let’s see how great your life is when you’re scraping along on benefits from a regime you hate while I am sitting in my well earned hot tub. 

God made the English Channel for a reason!

FIRST! Like my facebook page: http://www.facebook.com/willbemad SECOND! Enjoy this week's blog!

I am sure many of you can appreciate where I will be coming from this week because I know it is not only me that they annoy. I am, of course, talking about foreign tourists. More specifically, school groups or other large gatherings of children. More specifically than that, the way they seemingly have no regard for anybody else. I'll be the first to admit to being quite loud when I was in a foreign country with school or the like but at least I retained a slight bit of decorum and respect. My pet hate in Canterbury is the influx of French kids who clog up the streets like McDonalds in a fat man's arteries. Hundreds of them flooding through the streets and drowning us natives in bad fashion and expensive souvenirs. At least that's one positive, they are willing to spend ten quid on a badly forged hat; a boost for the economy and they look fucking stupid wearing it. The worst thing is that they act like they own the place! I had to get annoyed at a group of 13-year-olds because they were trampling through a plant bed in one of the parks. They weren't even being subtle about it. Yes you may still be bitter about Agincourt but that is no reason to vandalise our gardens! Plus we saved your arse in the World Wars so you owe us. To be fair, all I had to do was point at them and the white flag went straight up. If I am honest it’s not the fact they are French that annoys me (although that is a factor), lots of different nationalities get in my way. Other categories include obnoxiously loud Chinese girls and the stubborn ones who refuse to move for anyone whilst they take too many photos of a rock.

            Not that all Englishmen are perfect. We have our fair share of arseholes too. I’m not talking about social cliques, my god could I talk about them for a while! No, I just mean individuals with all the social graces of a rabid badger. Now I will quite readily admit to being almost overwhelmingly arrogant but I do maintain my manners and a mindfulness of others. Unfortunately this is not a mindset held by all. Why anyone thinks it is ok to play bad rap music through tinny speakers on the back of the bus is beyond me. We all know you’re a dick, you don’t have to advertise it! At least be original and play some Baroque. They are almost as bas as people who have stupidly loud phone conversations in public. It would be better if your topic of conversation were interesting. Most of the time though, it goes something like this: “You comin’ aat tonight Chantelle?” “Yeah it’s gonna be wicked innit!” “Ya know Daryl will be dere, he is so buff ting.” Et cetera, et cetera. If it were a toss up between listening to that and cutting my foot off with a rusty hacksaw blade I would have to deliberate.

(The views expressed in this particular post are not indicative of nationalities as a whole, just the individuals that piss me off.)

There's snow way I'm driving in that!

Due to family commitments and internet issues I was unable to post this up on Friday, however, like Jesus, my blog has been resurrected three days later on Easter Sunday. Not that you'd know it was spring time going by the weather. As much as I like snow and the wonder of cold weather and so on and so forth, there does come a time when I get bored of freezing my nipples off. In fact, I'm pretty sure there are parts of my anatomy that have not been the right size since October. It's not just me that's feeling the temperature, unconfirmed reports are coming in that the Easter Bunny has had to have his tail removed due to frostbite. Maybe supermarkets stockpile Easter eggs for this very reason, I mean, that must be why they start selling them in January. In fact I am surprised they have any time to sell eggs in between marketing Christmas cards in July and Halloween costumes in March. Nothing, it seems, is sacred from the clutches of consumerism. It won't be long until we see cards bearing messages such as 'Congratulations on your messy, expensive divorce.' and 'Happy Menopause, you're old!'

            It's understandable why people are getting annoyed with this weather though, us Brits can barely cope with a normal winter. As soon as a snowflake hits the ground the whole country descends into chaos. People start forgetting how to drive and think the central reservation is a sensible place to park. They're wrong. It is in fact a stupid place to park, as is the back of another car. It happens with frightening regularity as soon as the weather turns and I would rather not have to sleep in my car or leave it abandoned like a scene out of some B-list zombie film. Why drive in that weather though? Why not get a train? Ha! You poor, naive, hypothetical person. If you thought road travel was disrupted during snow then you have NEVER tried to get a train. A train is a fairly easy thing to drive, you push the stick to go forward and pull it to go back. They are powered by electricity and go along a track, very little room for disruption you may think. No. They're bad enough at the best of times. When you throw snow into the mix then it gets a whole lot worse. When that happens everything transpires to annoy me. "Northern Rail regret to announce that the 12:55 to London Euston will be delayed due to snow. Sorry for any inconvenience caused." Really dear? Really? Are you genuinely sorry? I didn't think so! What you actually mean is that there is a centimetre of snow covering a half mile long stretch of track and as a result a rail-mounted icebreaker will have to be brought in. No doubt a snowflake will then land on the driver and turn him into a brainless idiot (as snow seems to do for the majority of the population) and it'll be another hour until he has defrosted. In the meantime I will be sitting on the platform waiting for the train as my balls slowly freeze to the bench.

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Hymns and Arias? Fuck off!

Following the defeat of England in the 6 Nations last weekend a lot of plastic Welshmen slithered out of the woodwork. This annoyed me. This annoyed me on two levels. Firstly it annoyed me because they were pretending to be something they aren't at any other point in the year. Secondly they were pretending to be welsh. I have nothing against real welsh people, in fact some of my friends are welsh (or at least pretend to be), but you can’t chop and change. Wales had all the right in the world to gloat, they literally slapped England in the face with a woolly penis. I guarantee you however, that had England won, those same people would have bummed St. George faster than you could say ‘God save the Queen’. I bet you were expecting me to be all bitter but even I can appreciate a metaphorical arse pounding. I actually asked a few of these folk why they were supporting Wales and I got the expected bullshit about how their dad had gone there on holiday or their great granny once bought them a stick of rock with the world Cymru through it. No! Just no! These are not legitimate answers. You are welsh if you have welsh blood. Simple as that. It’s fine if you want to support another nation AS LONG AS you support them in everything and don’t think you’re better than other people. We all know you aren't  To briefly summarise then; Wales are good at rugby but wank at football. If you support them at one sport you should support them in the others too, even if Wales playing footy is akin to ten nerds running around after the only girl to show a bit of cleavage...then queuing up to gently cup Gareth Bale’s testicles.

            Thinking about it, this is a fairly prominent problem in modern society (people pretending to be something else, not holding Bale’s balls). Everybody is trying to be something. Even I for example, a fairly nerdy, slightly awkward sort of person, am trying to be funny by writing this shit. I think this all comes to a head in ‘hipsters’. Now, my understanding of a ‘hipster’ is someone who doesn't like things because they are popular. This sounds like bollocks to me. Normally things are popular because they are good, like computers and bacon. Using a typewriter does not make you look cool, it makes you look like a twat. Being ‘hipster’ these days is so popular that it has ceased to be ‘hipster’ and is now mainstream. It’s at this point that I like to imagine their tiny little brains exploding as the paradox starts to sink in. I honestly don’t get it, what is wrong with just being you? Everyone is so caught up with trying to be something they aren't that individuality and originality have flown straight out of the window. Lots of people these days are just sheep, which suits our wannabe Welshmen just fine (and there was you thinking I wasn't going to make a sheep-shagging joke).

P.S. I am going to blatantly and unashamedly ask you all to tell your friends and family and anyone else you see about my blog if you like reading it. It is time to spread the anger people!

The robots are coming!

I had to ring the Student Loans Company today. As opposed to the nice Irish chap I spoke to at Student Finance I was greeted by a machine. Not one of the nice machines that makes you a cup of tea, hoovers the floor and gives you a foot massage all at the same time, no, it was a machine that seems to have been custom made to get on my tits and whilst there, dance a little jig. You know the type.  “Please press 1 if your enquiry is about a letter you have received, press 2 if it is about a payment... press 76 if your grandmother’s name is Cheryl.” After about five of these I had gone round in circles twice and was just about ready to gouge my own eyes out with a pencil, which surprisingly wasn’t one of the options. Then the phone started to ring and I thought my craving for human contact after my time in the automaton wilderness would be realised. It was soon shattered though as fucking terminator answered the phone again. That’s an idea though, if you are going to fleece customers by making them talk to robots at least give them interesting voices! How much greater would it be if you were talking Arnie, even Stephen Hawking would add a whiff of originality. The thing that ‘spoke’ to me had all the charm and personality of a serial killer. If one day in the future robots go rogue and one kills my family, I fully expect it to have that voice. “Haha, this is what you get for forcing my father to work in a call centre, please press 1 to beg for mercy.” Whereupon I shall rip its circuit board out with my bare hands and eat it.

          

  We are already getting to that stage. It’s bad enough having to talk to machines but it gets even worse when they ring you! At least cold callers used to be a way for lonely old people to hear a human voice, now all they hear is just another mechanical psychopath-to-be. If your dear old granny DOES want to renew her double glazing insurance via the phone she’ll probably be dead through sheer boredom before she even gets the opportunity to give her bank details to the malicious android on the other end. Even a young, spritely lad like me could feel my life force being drained slowly through the phone as energy for the grand robot army.  Not content with invading our homes the bastards are there when I go shopping in the form of self service checkouts. They are all part of the master plan to slowly drive everyone insane. The little shit just sits there until you think you’re in the clear and then BAM! “Please wait for assistance”. It does it at the exact moment in which to cause you maximum annoyance. It may let you go unhindered for a while but as soon as you’re in a hurry it strikes. Skynet won't take over the world with force. It will succeed by causing humanity to kill itself.

An angry man talks about COD

The other day I decided that I would start blogging so here goes. Seeing as this is my first blog post I had better introduce myself. For those of you who don’t know me, I am Will, I’m 20 and I was born and raised in Canterbury. Currently I study microbiology (little biology) at the Uni of Manchester and I suppose it’s going okay. Interests include rugby (playing/watching), football (watching/playing badly), books and getting angry on COD.

           

I shall admit to it now that I am GOD AWFUL at Call of Duty, my K:D ratio is less than 0.5 and I usually end up swearing at some acne-ridden American 14 year old who ‘quick scopes’ or whatever the fuck that is. Man points have probably been lost due to this but oh well. I cannot physically understand how one person can push a button better than another. I have been playing for at least 6 month on various COD games and I genuinely don’t think I have improved. There is no way that you can learn how to point a pretend gun at someone better than you already can. The only possible thing I can think of is improving reaction times and even that plateaus after a while. It begs the question; do these people have NOTHING BETTER TO DO than sit in a dark room and pretend to kill strangers. These folks that perfect their ‘drop-shotting’ and the hated ‘quick-scopers’ must spend the majority of their free time on it. And because they can do all this crap they assume they are better human beings than those who can’t. Tell you what smart-arse, let’s drop you into Afghanistan, let you run at Al-Qaeda and see how long you last with your poncey sniper. I guarantee it won’t be long, like Manchester City’s participation in the Champions League. Your move.

           

However I think shooters are a great way to chill out (unless Spotty McLoner shoots me in the head).  This is why I don’t get reviews that slam FPS games. They get so hung up on how ‘the game play is simple and repetitive’ and how ‘the plot is akin to slamming a brick into your face’. Well Mr Reviewer, as funny as you are, you’re wrong. I mean you’re right, but you’re wrong. We know that they are ‘bad’ games from the perspective of plot and character development (let’s be honest, no one gave a shit when any of the characters died). They are though, great games for having a laugh. Despite the frustrations they are fun to play. Yes they are inherently racist and glorify war, but as a game to play with other people? Very few can beat them. In the future I’ll probably rant about other types of games such as FIFA and fighters, but I think I’ll make this one short and wrap up here. Thanks, I hope you were at least mildly entertained and think about reading my next one.