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.