Monday, 29 April 2013

Just realised

I am officially fat because I can't stop eating.

When I get home I just want to eat. I don't even care what I eat, really. Just the sensation of stuffing my face, filling a gap - perhaps emotional - is something I can see myself getting addicted to.

Unless I'm playing a computer game. Then I can forget my body. Unfortunately, I reward myself these days for my 'work', whereas back in the university days I'd just go to sleep. Back then, the only food I kept for myself was some bread and black pudding in the fridge. I had no love of food like I do now.

The irony? That being taught how to cook, and teaching myself to bake, has perhaps helped foster this new food addiction. It's strange. I know actually the major part of it is that back in university there was a) more to do, and b) we walked a lot more.

Now I drive everywhere, and when I get home, it's way too comforting. Too comfortable. But it's an uncomfortable comfort - I feel the need to get away, and escape. If I was at peace with the world around me, I would not feel the need to fill that emotional void.

Damned serotonin.

Thursday, 25 April 2013

UK to Syria: I smell gas.
Syria: He who smelt it, dealt it ((:D

Wednesday, 24 April 2013

Today I called my dad a dickhead and my mum a bitch.

I had my reasons.

Maybe I need to move out...

Saturday, 20 April 2013

This is how I spend my Saturday night

Issue reported:

Violent or repulsive content > Animal abuse

Timestamp selected:


Additional details:

Mistreatment of a fish.

Thursday, 18 April 2013

best mfw story ever

>be fapping under sheets, huff huff
>Bedroom door opens, mom comes in
>She eyes suspicious bulge under sheets
>Uh hi mom
>She climbs under sheets from end of bed
>feel her sucking my dick, holy fuck
>About to come
>Suddenly remember
>look under sheet
>It's dad with a wig on
>WTF cumming anyway
>suddenly remember
>holy fuck
>Look back under sheets
>nothing there


You ever have one of those days where you can’t stop shitting?
Can’t say I have.
I did today. It was like... I took a shit.
Basic morning shit.
Then I had two coffees, and another shit came out.
No. It was proceeded by farting - you know when you go to the loo and sometimes it just turns out to be a massive fart.
But this time it was a fart followed by sudden shit.
No. Just eager.
Eager poo?
Yeah. You never had an eager poo?
Nope. I have had uneager poo.
No. Just unwilling.
Sometimes poo is not in the mood.
In the pood.
Yeah. That’s what it says on the page for me to say.
What page? Are you breaking the fourth wall?
I’m afraid so.
You postmodern git.
Why do you have to always talk about poo anyway?
Because it’s taboo.
Because it’s the final frontier. Because Hitler was obsessed by poo.
Yeah. He actually had a poo fetish, according to Dr. Accordington.
... Shitler.
Fuck’s sake.
But yeah. Enough about poo.
But poo will never have enough of you. It will never stop. No matter where you are, even if you’re the king of England at a fancy soiree, thinking you’re all that, sometime during your party you will find yourself taking a shit. And everyone shits on a bowl, no matter who they are. If it’s gold-plated it doesn’t matter. You will still have to pull down your trousers and expose yourself to the water below.
... You’re reading rather closely into it. But I see what you’re getting at. You mean to say that poo is the great equaliser.
Yes. It is the great reducer.
Repoo -
Even the world’s most evil people have to take a shit. What do the evil people think about when they’re shitting? Do they feel vulnerable? Do they still feel like kings? What was the first thing Hitler did after Germany conquered France?
Took a shit?
And what?
And so, even then, at the moment of his greatest achievement,  he must have taken a dump, thinking “wow. I just conquered France. But I still have constipation.”
“What does a man have to do to cure his bumhole problems?”
Exactly. I think, right... it’s a bit of a weird theory, yeah... but if we all had effectively running bowels, the world would be a more peaceful place.
That’s... that’s crap.
You making a pun?
I’m not sure. What I do think is we all smoked weed and got to have sex all the time, there would be no wars.
True, but there would also be no running water or electricity.
I once visited the house of two hippies who had no door on their bathroom. Imagine the peace of that. The ease of being able to converse even though your nearest and dearest can hear and smell you taking a dump.
But... I don’t want anyone to smell my shit.
That’s the problem. You see a horse taking a dump in the road, does it make you think the horse is dirty?
Sort of... but horses are different. They’re animals, naturally full of grace.
Aren’t we? What happened to our grace?
What are you implying?
That the fall of man in the Bible wasn’t just about eating an apple. It was about the after-effects. She ate more than one apple, right...
And she got the runs...
And then, it was the fact that she felt the need to run away to a bush that was her undoing. For she had suddenly stopped being innocent. A baby with diarrhea just does it, and we wipe it away with our love.
Well, I’d use a baby wipe.
Because of her lack of innocence though, she ruined it. And Adam contributed to that because you know what he said when he saw she needed to take a shit?
He said “Go take a dump over there.” But you know what really happened when she took a dump in the bush?
She diarrheaed all over a passing snake.
Yeah. And that snake got so pissed off about being diarrheaed on that it became Satan.
Oh right.
And actually... it wasn’t called Lucifer. It was actually called...

Tuesday, 16 April 2013

Anything quite as embarassing as 'Recommended For You' things on YouTube? They won't go away either

"I see you and your gf are watching a video of a cute kitten. Just letting you know that I remember how much you enjoyed watching 'busty vixen lesbo twosome' so I've recommended a video of a busty vixen wanking with a sword"

Sunday, 14 April 2013

Playing China in Civ - first I wipe out America, now I just declared war on Korea. THIS IS HOW IT ENDS

Thursday, 11 April 2013

The Awakening

Inside a room, lined with velvet, blood-red curtains draped from ceiling to floor, a man sat cross-legged. For twenty-five years he had neither slept, nor eaten, nor drunk water. He had drunk a fair amount of alcohol, but that didn't matter. What mattered was that the room was hazy in a blend of incense, ash, smoke, and of course, sodjdoifjsfijsdoifaj.
Time has worn its weary hand over it like a child playing skimming stones upon a frozen lake: stupidly. Eroded sockets in hungry walls gaped over into the mystic sunset of the rain-soaked lands beyond, where voices spoke of death, famine, poverty, and sodjdoifjsfijsdoifaj. For in this age, where money changed hands between gods with no name, and entropy-locusts seared across barren windowsills pretending they were plant pots, there was no end to the torture and suffering of the man who sat cross-legged upon his brazen bed. Dust, cobwebs, and stagnancy pervaded the air; nevertheless, the room felt shorn of time's betraying hand. The spiders had long ago fled, as though out of respect (though probably out of boredom). Age mattered not here. Only the Moment mattered.
The Moment would come, thought the man, when the gods demanded it. Revenge was in sight, as long as he did not let himself fall victim to the fate of his kin: those whom the Evil One had maltreated and tortured beyond rationality, those who now worked, if not on the Evil One's side, paid tribute and homage to her minions, who had spread their malevolence all over this once fair land.
Scars he bore; scars made him. Scars from the Battle, when it seemed that for a fleeting time peace would come and the Evil One might be vanquished. A point where everything he and his kin had fought for might finally come to fruition; where the populace even seemed to understand their plight and fall into order; where toasts were made to victory (ah, but so prematurely!); where grass grew and smoke blew but both were part of the same sma, the constance brought about by those on the side of Good who might end the vainglorious reign of the Evil One.
But they had lost.
Ages passed. The rebellion was not only defeated, it was obliterated from history. The books taught to children told of a battle fought against terrorists; the children believed them. The prophets spoke of destinies fulfilled, of a curvature in the time-space paradigm lending control back from the Evil One (o! but they were unaware that the Evil One was in fact the Evil One and had their name changed) and that... and that he - the Good One - was in fact the Evil One. For years, days, months and hours, he dwelt upon this possibility. Had he set a foot wrong? Had he betrayed his companions? Had he broken their trust by breaking the oaths of fellowship? Had he asked too much before there was enough leverage put in place?
It was possible.
But news had come, sent his way by an eagle. The Evil One's reign had ended. Surely now their prospects would change? But no. One look out of his window had convinced him that the world had changed forever. None of his former allies ever sent him a raven. None returned his ravens. He was alone, utterly alone.
Another age passed. He thought about ending his life: instead, he became as a monk. A life inside a mansion lived as though an ascetic. Total negation of all past beliefs. Dwelling in the spaces between dimensions, he let the age pass him by.
Whilst in the middle of his latest trance, news reached his air, whispered into it by one of his former allies.
"Thatcher's dead," spoke the voice.
He did not open his eyes, for he thought it must be a device of the Enemy. This was their final challenge to him: to dare and hope. If he did not open his eyes, they would not be able to trap him. Then he realised that was retarded and opened them. It was Ken Capstick, treasurer of the Socialist Party. He had grown old. They all had. But they were all still alive.
The man raised an eyebrow as if to say 'Is it true?'
Ken nodded again.
Scargill, the leader of a great army back in the age of rebellion, stirred from within his bowers. He stretched, and shook of the dust of ages.
Ken gave him a blade. Scargill picked it up and wielded it.
"What should I tell them, my liege? What say you in response to the death of the Evil One?"
"Tell them... Scargill is alive."
"Yes," said Ken, grinning in a manner that seemed to take ten years off his face. "Yes," he repeated, a sparkle in his eye that seemed to take another ten years off his face. He raised his sword. "Yes!" he shouted, with the force of old, a shout which seemed to take another ten years off his face.
"You're off your face," said Scargill distractedly.
"The nineties never ended," replied Ken.
"We were young then."
"We are still young."
"I fear we are not. I fear for the future of the alliance."
"There is no alliance. It is your job to rebuild it. Will you take up the mantle?"
"How can I? I live in an apartment worth one and a half million pounds. What sort of a hypocrite am I?"
"Good point. See you then. I'm going down the pub. You coming?"

based on

Monday, 8 April 2013

Hate that feeling when you realise you fancy a computer game character

in this case, Elizabeth from Bioshock

man I need to either stop this or try to make more friends - it's pathetic writing a 'blog' for one person :P

Sunday, 7 April 2013

First three hours or so of being introduced to Bioshock Infinite I can say that it is an incredibly trippy experience. I kind of wonder whether it's the same not playing it on a laptop, because when you're that closer to the screen in the dark with headphones on, you actually feel like you're kind of in that beautiful world. Of course a massive screen with amazing sound is pretty good as a replacement...

One flaw: the checkpoint system.
>checkpoint system

Let's Just Say North Korea Launches a Missile Towards Guam...

...and as it travels it is either blocked off by a recently installed missile defence system or, if the strike occurs in any time during the next three weeks, the system not being installed therefore fails to protect people from it, then the probable outcome will be that Guam is hit.

Guam, being as it is a country inhabited by 180,000 people, will suffer the effects of a one-ton warhead. Presumably it will, at worst, erradicate the entire population. However, this is a worst-case scenario: in all probability (71.56%, according to research), the population will be halved, and the rest will manage to escape the island on specially designed anti-radiation dinghies.

In any case, the minute a missile is launched, the US will have to consider what action to take. They will not be alone in this: China, too, will for the first in years consider itself an ally of the US, if only out of embarrassment. Whilst it is clear in trade terms that the US needs China more than the China needs the US, without the US, China would not continue its system of integrated capitalism for, despite its appearances to the contrary, the main market for its products is the US. With no one left to buy, there can be no factories. Fact.

Oreos will be consumed in the hundreds during the important meetings between important white men and important Chinese men. The Russians will sit in the corner smoking illegal cigars. The Brits will cower and scream then run away from the entire thing and decide to re-create halcyon days of the forties, because, after all, the forties was the last time we saw a nuclear missile being used. Its population may take to using the Tube more than usual, eventually populating it, creating a subterranean underground people "with really big eyes" (Wells, 1895).

The North Koreans, bolstered by the fact that they're finally being taken seriously, will engage in numerous victorious marches and, realising that its been a week since the last bomb and nothing's really been done, decide to bomb Seoul just for the hell of it. Like a party in which the police have already been called, the last few minutes of its existence will be the most hedonistic of all, but only because there is only one person left and they are fundamentally insane. During this period, many North Koreans will begin to wonder at the moral value of bombing Guam and, when the second, bigger bomb hits Seoul and they are treated to the sight of a ruined city whose half a million deaths are the fault of their leaders, will question not only their leaders but their own beliefs. At this point half of North Korea's population will suffer an existential crisis, caught in a web of cognitive dissonance at which point the suicide rate will quadruple. Many will let themselves starve, but this won't count as suicide because "they would have starved anyway" (Fam, 2004).

Eventually, a semi-unofficial-official referedum will be called in the US - the voices of the peaceniks will be drowned out and because everyone's really pissed off at North Korea, the US will first send an ICBM into the vicinity of the nuclear plants in North Korea. Then, after another month in which the world feels bad about itself, the US and China will consider sending troops in to displace Jong Un. But then, making the same excuse that worked in 1945, they will say that the number of casualties resulting from a land invasion would make it impossible not to use another couple of nuclear bombs. So the US bomb Pyongyang, forcing Jong Un to make an unconditional surrender from a war that he started simply by being a gobby cunt.

Saturday, 6 April 2013

if in doubt, shakespearian shite


He who sits upon the golden throne
A flame haired youth, unkempt and odorous,
Has name of Jim and age of four and ten,
And possesses power beyond most mortal men.
Hail Frank, you bolsterer of sanguine mood.
How goes your morning on this cankered planet?

Been better son, been worse though, I will grant.
Here you go - a note from the BBC.
It seems you’ve failed to pay your license fee.

A pox upon this tiniest of trifles.
Today I plan to unseat the childish tyrant.

Jim? Good luck with that idea, old bean;
I hear he keeps time in his gloved hand.
A hundred guards do stand outside his room
And never slumber through a month of nights.

You forget the turning in the tide.
Last month th’election showed a change in mood
Amongst the populace of noble London.
The youth are aching for his head; a stick
Upon t’, they cry, and then they sleep.

And therein lies the problem, noble cuz:
A youngster wakes, then back to sleep returns;
The nodding land is where his heart belongs.
To youth we cannot look to unseat Jim.

I disagree, and pray you think upon ‘t.
Come back to me tomorrow after the game.

The game between United and United?

The very same: decider of the title.

The title that United won last year?

I sense indifference spurting from your gob.

A similar mood with which you greet my gard’ning.

Celery growing does not count as a sport.

A life sustained is a far more noble endeavour.

Let us opine in our separate ways.
The hour is late; the vampires havoc soon.
Our blinds we’ll draw, our shutters tightly bind,
Put TVs on to drown out all their shrieks.

They say that Jim’s the leader of these demons.

They say a lot of things, Frank - gossip is idle.

Idleness which often breeds creation.

A vampire is a creature untouched by God:
Let us not then dwell upon these matters.

Fear’s the most productive of emotions.
Without it we sit listening to ticking of clocks.
A beating heart is only a sign of life
Propelling us towards a noble goal.

Are you suggesting I give up my medication?

Unanxious hearts contain no suitable answers.

An empty heart is preferable to terror.
Speak not of issues that don’t trouble thee.

Tis true that spiders used to cause me angst.
I went to see a therapist who said
‘Fears are conquered when you turn and face them.’
Upon his word I walked up to a tarantula
And wanked upon its stupid hairy body.
The fucker ran away, into th’ abyss.
And thus, my friend, was fear reduced to naught.

So I should go up to a random vampire
And spurt my load upon his terrible face?

Or better, grab a stake and kill the bastard.

I am not you. I wish that I could do that.
When I was twelve a bat accosted me.
Away I ran, and screamed like a Bee Gee.

Your hour will come my friend - you must believe me.
Before I slayed my first, I was like you.
Handsome face, a stubbled jaw, but meek.

What incident took place that changed your mood?

My neighbour turned into one of those monsters.
He sought to fang my mother, so I whacked him
On the head but he got right back up.
So I made myself a hasty stake
Using last week’s copy of th’ Times on Sunday.
Even paper manages to serve the purpose,
As long as the love of God propels the arrow.


Cupid’s love propels my only arrow.

Hello, collection of retarded men.

Tis better to be stupid than a... hen.

I would slap you if I had some gloves on.
But then your greasy cheeks would send me slipping
Until I fell into the arms of Frank here.

Get thee gone then - lucky I care not.
Had I, long ago would’st thou be mine.

A fucking up of grammar ‘trays your emotion.

Emotion equals motion, spake a Weirdo.

What the fuck’re you talking about, good Frank?

I have no true idea, for I am stoned.
Vampires were our theme, and how to end ‘em.
For my part, I suggested use of stakes
But John it seems is no fan of that market.

A stake in th’ enterprise of criminal treason
Would go against all things that I was raised on.
But then again, my father taught me rightly
And yet I fear my whole life has been wankered.
If only I could work out what to do:
To bravely go and o’erthrow King Jim
Or persevere with stuff that I do now?
A job that leaves me aching in my bones
A job that fills my mouth with nothing but foam
A job that makes me use the telephone
In order to be rejected hour by hour
By customers who were only branded thus
Unwillingly so - no wonder they’re so vexed
For who would submit to arbitrary purchase?
A branded servant strained by morbid excess
The western world is full of contradiction
Money for money, though none has any left
Paying tax although our debtors us owe
Giving back our gold we earned through labour
To those who...

Frank (to Gertrude)
He’s used up his supply of righteousness.

Certainty itself is under threat.
To take a stand is always a dangerous move.
Sitting on the fence though pleases none:
Least of all the fence which, freshly painted,
Now leaves a whitish mark upon our arse.
So stain’d are those who care not for emotion.
But feigned indifference pleaseth not the Lord;
Nor, it seems, the general populace.
So take a stand, young John, before I kill you.

Fine then - I will thus vote the way of lefties.

That’s too easy. Who likes easy clich├ęs?

Perhaps then I’ll become a liberal.

A poseur, who achieveth nothing but dribble.

No way for me to swing unto the right wing.

All you should do is think about the right thing.

A bit of all perhaps might do me best.

Then let us put your credo to the test.
You see a man who sprawls upon the street
Do you give him the time of day, or ignore him?

Perhaps he’s had a heart attack. I’d glance.

And nothing else but that? No hand into your pocket?

I may fish out a golden coin or two.

Throw it him like bread to Hyde Park ducks?

Yes. And you? What would you rather do?

Stop, and look into his struggling face.
I cheated a little: I mentioned not his dog.

Ah! A pup! That changes everything.

With a dog in tow, I’d give him all my lot.

I see. You are, like me, a soppy fop.
All animals are better than our kind.
More innocent, although they’d bite our hands off
Upon the merest hint of overhandling.
My cat has teeth that nibble at my toes
A swishing tail that warns of her intentions
I love her even when she’d have me leave:
A fan am I of true misanthropy!

Anthropomorphism is just unnatural.

Let’s not split fur. We have a task to do:
We’ll find the vampire King and singe his beard.
Stake up his heart and send him back to Hell
And then perhaps reward with a Chinese.

A noble plan, young cuz: let us depart.
(Aside) A surfeit of thoughts run through my balding head.
If we fail this, perhaps the world will end
But worser still, we’ll not get our Chinese.

I heard all that, good Frank: pie, worry not.

What is pie? Some odd neologism?

I meant another word, but can’t remember ‘t.

I hate when words reside on the tip of your tongue.

That’s why I don’t go near alphabet soup.