Today is the 30th of January, and in case you were not aware, the 30th of January is my birthday. I'm now 18 which, according to the law, makes me an adult. I can do smoke legally, drink alcohol legally, vote, watch certificated material... Well, you get the idea.
I received a card in the mail this morning from the House of Lords. Looking at the envelope i felt a certain feeling of dread fall over me. I rattled my brain for things that i may have done wrong... or right. (I'm saying 'right' because i was told i was too pessimistic... Oh really.) So, anyway, I opened the envelope and a card with the London sky line was printed on the front. Flipping the card open it was a birthday card from the MP of Suffolk congratulating me on my 18th year of living.
A nice thought really. I opened up the rest of my birthday cards all with greetings on the front such as: 'Have a brilliant day!' and 'Wishing you a happy birthday!' But it made me think. Why on earth would you put 'congratulations' on a birthday card? Since when has it become an achievement to reach a certain age in life. It made me wonder if he knows something about me i don't. Like if i have Aids or something. "Congratulation on your 18th birthday, you've survived for this long!" Bastard.
Anyway. I was also asked if it feels any different being 18. What do you think? No. I feel just like i felt 12 hours ago. Do you really think i would have changed into a brand new person within an hours change. No, so stop being so idiot you pea headed wanker.
Happy Birthday to me.
Friday, 30 January 2009
Thursday, 29 January 2009
You're One To Talk.
Another late night draws me to writting another one of these. Whilst my computer renders a 10 second piece of footage in after effects that fans and processors go absolutely mad, I can only compare the buzzing noise to that of a swarm of killer space bee's trying to burst their way into my home. It's quite annoying, so i decided the turn on the TV, to pass the time and some more stimulation for my eye balls as my computer tries to take off. Now before you ask: "Your writing this, so you much on a computer!" I'm on my laptop. Thank you.
Anyway. The television came on with a flash of white light reminding me of a time when I had cornea's - The light is off you see. Elvis Costello's live show decided to come on my screen, his charming guitar riffs will quite happily satisfy my needs for the time being. However, it's just gone the 15 minute mark for telly land when they have to show adverts.
Now as it's late all those weird, sleazy adverts for 'Text Flirt' and '18 year old, fill my hole, friend finder' bombard the time slot. Joy, the image comes to me of a dozen or so sleepless middle age men contemplating whether or not he should or shouldn't in case his wife sees the 5 odd digit number on the bill.
But one other advert struck me. The new campaign for the 'Swift Cover Car Insurance' fronted by the so called 'Iggy Pop.' The man looks like a scrotum that's been deep fat fried. He parades around my screen shouting at me about how great he is because of his new found way of getting car insurance. Prick.
What makes it worse is the constant face cuts of him dancing like a bell end, topless. It's as if someone has a long strand of leather and tied it to a fan so it blows around like an annoying tick. What really tops it off for me, is at the end when the wrinkly leather skinned, smug, droopy faced bastard looks straight down the lens and tells me to "get a life."
I'm sorry Mr. Pop, that I'm not a sold out, limited mainstream, rock artist fannying around a purple set trying to sell car insurance. Your one to talk about 'getting a life.' Your now seeing car insurance you prick. Stop patronising people and go back to your tanning bed and we can only prey that the skin cancer develops faster. Cock.
Anyway. The television came on with a flash of white light reminding me of a time when I had cornea's - The light is off you see. Elvis Costello's live show decided to come on my screen, his charming guitar riffs will quite happily satisfy my needs for the time being. However, it's just gone the 15 minute mark for telly land when they have to show adverts.
Now as it's late all those weird, sleazy adverts for 'Text Flirt' and '18 year old, fill my hole, friend finder' bombard the time slot. Joy, the image comes to me of a dozen or so sleepless middle age men contemplating whether or not he should or shouldn't in case his wife sees the 5 odd digit number on the bill.
But one other advert struck me. The new campaign for the 'Swift Cover Car Insurance' fronted by the so called 'Iggy Pop.' The man looks like a scrotum that's been deep fat fried. He parades around my screen shouting at me about how great he is because of his new found way of getting car insurance. Prick.
What makes it worse is the constant face cuts of him dancing like a bell end, topless. It's as if someone has a long strand of leather and tied it to a fan so it blows around like an annoying tick. What really tops it off for me, is at the end when the wrinkly leather skinned, smug, droopy faced bastard looks straight down the lens and tells me to "get a life."
I'm sorry Mr. Pop, that I'm not a sold out, limited mainstream, rock artist fannying around a purple set trying to sell car insurance. Your one to talk about 'getting a life.' Your now seeing car insurance you prick. Stop patronising people and go back to your tanning bed and we can only prey that the skin cancer develops faster. Cock.
Sunday, 25 January 2009
Further Proof That There Is No God.
People always look into the existence of God in so much detail. People think there isn't be God because of Hurricanes, World Famine, Genocide... That kind of thing. Why would the Lord All Mighty do something like this? "Because it's his way of teaching us wrong and right." Bollocks, is it. It's because there isn't a God. However, these reasons are a bit ambiguous, don't you think?
It's all very well saying that there is no God because of all these horrific acts but why does everyone think so big. Scale it down.
Yesterday, I woke up with the worst neck ache in the world. The pain could be compared to the acts of child abuse and international terrorism - combined. Pity me. I could only move my neck about 60 degrees to the right, and even that hurt. I'm restricted to as little movement as possible and i have to physically roll off my bed to get up. In summary, it hurts.
In theory, we are all God's children then, yes? If so, then why on earth would he put 'his children' through agony? This leads back to the scaling down aspect of why I have proof that God does not exsit.
If there really was a God, why would he have given me this wretched neck ache? Why would he let people stub their toes? The flu, sore throats, embarrassing acts... Its further proof that there is no God.
So this was my little moan time at you, to make you feel sorry for me and to hope that you can experience this pain some time. It goes to show that the buses were right for once...
Rock on.
It's all very well saying that there is no God because of all these horrific acts but why does everyone think so big. Scale it down.
Yesterday, I woke up with the worst neck ache in the world. The pain could be compared to the acts of child abuse and international terrorism - combined. Pity me. I could only move my neck about 60 degrees to the right, and even that hurt. I'm restricted to as little movement as possible and i have to physically roll off my bed to get up. In summary, it hurts.
In theory, we are all God's children then, yes? If so, then why on earth would he put 'his children' through agony? This leads back to the scaling down aspect of why I have proof that God does not exsit.
If there really was a God, why would he have given me this wretched neck ache? Why would he let people stub their toes? The flu, sore throats, embarrassing acts... Its further proof that there is no God.
So this was my little moan time at you, to make you feel sorry for me and to hope that you can experience this pain some time. It goes to show that the buses were right for once...
Rock on.
Tuesday, 20 January 2009
Friday, 16 January 2009
Satisfaction From My Television.
Back in the day, Saturday nights were all about the family gathering round the telly box to gawk at the ordinary citizens trying to win a new toaster, a cuddly toy and, the untouchable speed boat. Que a woo and a round of applause.
Game shows on a Saturday night were the thing to watch. 'The Generation Game,' 'BullsEye' and 'Family Fortunes' were all the favorites. These concepts were so entertaining we were glued to our seats to watch these puppets have their stings pulled.
As time went on, the appeal was lost. Que an 'aww.'
Now, I thought I had lost all faith in television, albeit the amazing Doctor Who. The telly was churning out the same monotonous dribble - X-Factor, Big Brother, Strictly Come... Whatever. Reality TV is king of the land now. People like it, it's safe and familiar. Nothing to worry their heads over - unless your one of the million retarded people that complains about everything they see on TV to OfCom like some whiny four year old who wants more jam tart. Yeah, I'm talking to you Mail readers. Fuck you.
Anyway. 5:40pm, BBC 1. 'Total Wipeout.' All that needs to be said quite frankly. The premise for the show is simple really. The shiny faced Richard Hammond presents and commentates the next generation of game shows: 20 contestants take on one of 'television's largest and most extreme obstacle courses.' The fastest contestant to complete the course will win a lovely some of money, 10 grand.
When i heard about it and saw the adverts i thought I'd hate it until it was recommended to me by my friend and they played a few clips of it to me. It was brilliant. Brilliant because you got to sit there in the comfort of your own arm chair watching 27 year old P.E. Teachers, 25 year old 'wags' representing independent woman, 37 year old chemistry teachers (A nice variation) all losing their dignity in that hands of the 4 giant red bouncy balls, a wall of boxing gloves that hydraulically eject out at random.
Basically the satisfaction comes from watching the general public shame and humiliate themselves whilst they fly off the course squawking out obscene noises which seems to mimic the pain they may have just done to their insides. It's further proof that people will go to any extream to get on TV or to get their hands on free money. Then again, maybe I'm just looking it to a bit too much and should really take for what it is: a bunch of pillocks losing their grace on national television and watching their souls drip through their eyes as they peer at the giant red balls.
The latter, I think. It's more fun that way.
Anyway. 5:40pm, BBC 1. 'Total Wipeout.' All that needs to be said quite frankly. The premise for the show is simple really. The shiny faced Richard Hammond presents and commentates the next generation of game shows: 20 contestants take on one of 'television's largest and most extreme obstacle courses.' The fastest contestant to complete the course will win a lovely some of money, 10 grand.
When i heard about it and saw the adverts i thought I'd hate it until it was recommended to me by my friend and they played a few clips of it to me. It was brilliant. Brilliant because you got to sit there in the comfort of your own arm chair watching 27 year old P.E. Teachers, 25 year old 'wags' representing independent woman, 37 year old chemistry teachers (A nice variation) all losing their dignity in that hands of the 4 giant red bouncy balls, a wall of boxing gloves that hydraulically eject out at random.
Basically the satisfaction comes from watching the general public shame and humiliate themselves whilst they fly off the course squawking out obscene noises which seems to mimic the pain they may have just done to their insides. It's further proof that people will go to any extream to get on TV or to get their hands on free money. Then again, maybe I'm just looking it to a bit too much and should really take for what it is: a bunch of pillocks losing their grace on national television and watching their souls drip through their eyes as they peer at the giant red balls.
The latter, I think. It's more fun that way.
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