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Wednesday, 30 March 2011

Public toilets

Public toilets are fucking grim. There is nothing worse than being ‘caught short’ and having to resort to using one of these disgusting cesspits, only to find it covered in piss, shit, blood and graffiti. I REALLY don’t understand why people fuck up public toilets. YOU WILL HAVE TO USE IT TOO, YOU CRETIN. IF YOU SMEAR SHIT UP THE WALLS, YOU WILL HAVE TO SMELL IT.

OK, so for the sake of the world, can everyone agree to abide by some rules?

Clean up after yourself. Cleaning up after yourself might seem a bit of a broad statement, so I’ll narrow it down. If you use a toilet to piss standing up and you hit the seat/floor, get some tissue and mop it up. If you take a shit, FLUSH IT. Only use the toilet paper you need, if you ram the toilet with too much stuff, it will block. If it blocks, unblock it (I don’t care if you don’t have a plunger, use your fucking hands you disgusting cunt) If you leave shit all over the bowl that the flush doesn’t clear, clean it off. If you find yourself without toilet paper, DO NOT use pages from a book to wipe your ass and then stick the pages to the wall using your feces as the glue (Yes, this actually happened – take a bow, LS6).

Basically, leave the toilet in the same state that you’d want to find it. If you find yourself taking off the lid of the cistern to take a dump in it, you’re a cunt. If you start spinning round whilst pissing, stop and take a look at yourself. This comes down to general good manners and unless you are a fucking pig, you will already follow these rules.

Shitting Etiquette. For better or worse, we all sometimes find ourselves needing a shit when we are away from home. Fine. But just because there are 2 cubicles in a rest room, that does not mean two people can be shitting at the same time a metre away from each other. Sorry, but that is fucking foul. If you go into a toilet and a cubicle is occupied, you have to wait. Them’s the rules.

Picture the scene, you’re busting for a dump. You find a public toilet that’s clean and empty, PERFECT. You sit down and start about your business. Just as you’re getting into the swing of things, some twat walks in, takes the cubicle next to you and starts loudly shitting and farting and it fucking wreaks. You have to put your shirt over your nose to stop from gagging from the stench. Your nice relaxing shit has now become an horrific ordeal. FUCK THAT GUY. If someone else got there first, tough fucking luck buddy. Shit your pants if you have to.

Wanks. Public/work toilets are for three things; Pissing, shitting and power napping. That’s it. In exceptional circumstances, these uses can be extended to include; going into to buy/take drugs and to nip into to… ‘fornicate’ with your partner. We’ve all been there. To say you haven’t used some sort of empty toilet/changing room/meeting room for this purpose is simply misleading. You have. Yeah, it’s pretty grim, but fuck it, something has got to make museums fun, right? I’m fine with this, as long as it’s clean and no-one is around, go nuts. UNLESS you’re by yourself. If you’re planning on going solo, wait until you get home, for fuck sake.

I suspect this is more of a ‘work toilet’ thing as I know of at least five/six people who have admitted to me that they have snuck off to the office loo to knock one out… You are fucking grotesque. How bored do you really have to be to make this seem appealing?! Is it the thrill of getting caught? Have people seen so many porn movies these days that they expect a smoking hot temp to walk in, catch them at it and ‘finish them off’?! Not gonna happen. Hate to break it to you, but the only people walking through that door are your fat manager or the geeky IT Guy. Big soz.

And finally my pet hate, Graffiti. For some reason, people think it’s ok to daub all sorts of messages over the walls of public toilets. Whether it’s HILARIOUS pictures, jokes and limericks or powerful and thought provoking proverbs and political messages, if you have written a message on a toilet wall, you need to be put down. What the FUCK is wrong with you?! Ok, first off, who takes a marker pen into the toilet with them, really?! The answer is; NO-ONE. No-one carries a marker with them at all times. So already you’ve pre-planned your act of vandalism... WANKER. So you get into the toilet and sit down, what to write? Do you show people how fucking funny you are? Or shall you blow their minds with some philosophy? Go for humour.. ‘WANTED; BUTCH MAN FOR LONG TIME LOVIN, THINK URE MAN ENUFF? CALL ME’ And you write your friends number… HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA, FUCKING HELL!! FUCKING FUCKING HELL!! LOL!!! HAHAHAHAHA, IT’S FUNNY BECAUSE IT’S YOUR FRIENDS NUMBER!!! YOU REALLY ARE FUNNY!!!!!! OH MY FUCKING GOD, THAT IS SO. FUCKING. FUNNY. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!

Seriously, these people need finding and putting to sleep. Worse than that is the pretentious ‘clever’ graffiti. If you’ve ever been to the Cowley Club, you’ll know that it is covered in such prolific statements as ‘Cameron is a pig’, ‘Fuck Thatcher’ and my personal favourite ‘It only takes one tree to make a thousand matches but only takes one match to burn a thousand trees…’ Wow… you’ve BLOWN MY MIND. Well done. Also, Stereophonics lyrics in an anarchist club? NICE.

Some people are so fucking retarded and disgusting it hurts my head. Fuck.

Friday, 25 March 2011

Online Gaming Nerd Rage

Since I was a about 4 years old I have been obsessed with computer games. From early arcade games, computers and consoles to modern technologies, I have spent a large portion of my life in front of a computer/TV screen. Admittedly it sometimes terrifies me to think of how many months/years of my life have been spent with a control pad/keyboard in hand shooting people in the face and shouting "noooooob" at them, fucking up dragons with wizards spells and shit, solving puzzles and trying to unlock that urban myth of a scene where Lara Croft gets her fun bags out...but I don't regret it.

The world has witnessed unimaginable changes in the computer games industry since the 90's, with a steady flow of new technologies, games consoles and hardware innovations, the games industry has never been more popular. One of the main reasons attributed to this surge in popularity is online gaming, giving gamers the ability to test out their skills against other gamers worldwide.

This sounds like a nice idea in theory, people of different nationalities coming together for a bit of friendly competition. Maybe we can learn about each others culture whilst enjoying a relaxing game? Maybe we can make friends for life and play as a team? Just maybe we can attain world peace....right? WRONG, this is about as likely as crazy teenagers running around a dark flashing room, eating bright coloured magical pills and gurning uncontrollably whilst mind numbingly repetitive 8 bit music plays after being influenced by Pacman! Actually that was a bad example.....but you get the point.

Online gaming has seemingly descended into a pit of self loathing, hatred and frustration for many of it's users...me included. What should be a relaxing past time has turned into an experience that has people temporarily losing control of their temper (and their dignity), and regressing to child like behavior. These are my top reasons for hating the snivelling little brats that pollute the world of online gaming...

  • The inability to accept their own incompetencies- We've heard it all before. "You're cheating! LAG! (latency that causes the game to fall out of sync with actions of a player and the reaction of the game), YOU'RE CHEATING!!" As soon as the nerd rager starts to lose, they will blame every available variable that may have contributed to their poor performance, when in fact the game is working perfectly well and their inadequate dexterity and strategy is at fault. The noise that a nerd rager makes when agitated can only be likened to a nasal voiced child that has snapped after his 100th atomic wedgie/milk money robbery, and the sound awakens something inside of you that invokes the undeniable urge to flush said nerd ragers head down a toilet or give them a brutal Chinese burn!
  • People that talk shit on their headset- Unfortunately on-line gaming has a chat room element to it, and we all know what happens in chat rooms! Unless you are using your headset to communicate with players that you are in a party with, you will at some point be subjected to a torrent of immature school boy abuse by some irritatingly high voiced child. The best thing to do is just mute the people that are annoying you, but often you will become so enraged that you will sink to their level and use your headset to challenge them to a duel with your tongue sword. They will emptily threaten to track you down and kill you, try and insult your country of origin (e.g. "hey buddy, I fucked the Queen"), tell you that you have no dick and eventually resort to racism. At times this will make you wish you could turn into a Tron Lightcycle, drive down the network, shoot out of their router port and batter them!
  • People with shit connections- What are you on fucking 56k dial-up? If you don't have a half decent connection, don't fucking bother. You just turned up to a gun fight with a teapot...now piss off!
  • Children that play 18 rated games- Before I write this, I am not making this point from the perspective of somebody that cares about the moral responsibility that parents have to protect their children from offensive material. I'm not going to tell you how to look after your kids, all I ask is that you keep them the fuck away from the games that I play! I was playing Call of Duty Modern Warfare 2 (Battlefield Bad Company 2 is the don though!) during the day, and happened to be on a team with a group of young lads. They asked me my age, when I replied they started insinuating that I was a paedophile, using Xbox live as a method for grooming children! I pointed out to them that this game has an 18 rating, and they shouldn't be playing. They then told me that I was far too old to be playing computer games, and must therefore be a nonce. As I tried to argue with them they laughed, and I felt like an incredibly uncool Mr Belding esque character, desperately trying to be down with the kids but embarrassingly failing. I retired for the night to do some serious soul searching...despite the fact that I'd just got a Pave-low.
  • People that quit- Games like FIFA 11 have become unplayable if you have any skill, as 8 times out of 10 your competitor will quit as soon as they start losing. This is incredibly frustrating, as you are being robbed of both your time and XP points. I wish people could take a beating like a man, rather than living in the denial that they never lose.

I think we just have to accept that cretins exist in every corner of the world, and have infiltrated all forms of communication media....which sadly includes computer games. For some reason it seems that being given the ability to communicate remotely (and anonymously) with others triggers an impulsive behavior to argue with and abuse this stranger. Add a competitive element to the purpose of the communication, and the douchebag inside you unwillingly comes out to play.
I am very occasionally guilty of moments of nerd rage, which only fuels my hatred for this juvenile behavior more.

Come on nerds, can't we all just get along?

Saturday, 5 March 2011

Yellow Fever

"There is no doubt having a tan makes you feel thinner, sexier and healthier"

What the fuck is wrong with people, seriously? I honestly cannot see why any sane person would think getting a fake tan is a good idea. Whether it be sprayed on, painted on or burnt on by a sun bed, it always looks shit and always makes you look like a prick. A really weird culture has built up over the last few years where some people feel that by being pale, they are unattractive. So in an attempt to look "sexier" they do everything they can, to go as orange as they can.

OMG I am real worryed bout goin out 2nite. I aven't ad any sun coz of all the rain an now I look all pale an washed out, it's so gross. Honist, I look lyke a milk bottle.

Fucking hell. With all the problems in the world, the thing you're worried about is having your skin look its natural colour? Seriously, Whitmore are reforming, surely that's more terrifying?! I really can't work out why there are so many bright orange people walking the streets. All I can blame is our celebrity culture. People buy the Sun or Heat or whatever and see pictures of celebrities in bikinis living it up on holiday, looking tanned. So idiots start to think that that is sexy and in an attempt to look like celebrities, they roll around in a vat of bronzer. NICE ONE, CUNT. There is NOTHING sexy about you being painted orange!

Maybe you want people to think you've just come back from a holiday somewhere exotic? Couple of problems there... First up, fake tan looks just that, FAKE, clue's in the name, prick. Secondly, without wanting to use the world 'slag' you're dressed... cheaply? Sporting 3 inch heels, a tiny skirt with your thong showing, a boob tube and with what looks to be a tribal tattoo on the bottom of your back, whilst stumbling around the city centre at 4am doesn't scream 'I CAN AFFORD FOUR HOLIDAYS 4 YEAR' I'm sorry.

If you're going to do it, fucking man up and go the whole hog. That or don't bother.

How do you know if you're wearing too much fake tan? Well, are you wearing ANY? Yes? then it's too much. FUCK OFF.

Friday, 4 March 2011


London. What a fucking SHIT HOLE.

I had the dubious pleasure of visiting our capital city this week and it was the most pointless, stressful and money draining experience of my life. I guess I should start from the beginning, my band were recording with my friend Ben this week who lives on a ship on the Thames. Luke and I decided to get the train up together on Monday, we got to the station and brought our tickets. Point one - The ticket was £17, even WITH a Young Persons Railcard. WHAT THE FUCK?! Why is public transport so much more expensive to go to London?! It's like you're being taxed for visiting the cesspit.

Anyway, we brought tickets to London Bridge as that was the closest to where we were going. Fine. We looked at the board, no trains. OK, we'll go to Victoria and get the tube. As much as I hate the tube, we were already running late so we maned up. We got off the train at Victoria and walked towards the barriers. We were carrying gear so we went to the maned gate at the side, Luke walked though no problem. I showed the guy my ticket 'Stop!, Go over there' and the guy pointed to the excess fare stand. I try to ask what I've done wrong but the cunt is looking the other way now and as we all know, once you've turned your head, it is physically impossible to hear anything behind you.

So I wander over to the stand, pass the ticket to the guy and tell him what's happened.

'Brighton to London Victoria is £17 please...' and he holds out his hand
'Your ticket is to London Bridge, this is Victoria, you haven't paid'
'I have! Look, my ticket is in your hand!'
'Doesn't work like that'
At this point, I know I'm not going to win and we're running late so fuck it. 'Can I just pay the difference?'
'Yes, the difference is £17'
'But I've already PAID you most of it?!'
'Brighton to Victoria is Southwest trains, you brought Brighton to London Bridge, that's First Capital Connect. You've paid them, you've not paid Southwest Rail...'
'For fucks.... Ok fine, I have a young persons ra...'
'You can't use Railcards on jumped fares'
'I DIDN'T JUM... oh for fucks sake, here...' and I pass him the money. So, so far this had cost me £34.

I go back to that barrier and it's unsupervised, I walk through with no-one checking my ticket. FUCKING DO ONE.

Luke and I walk to the tube station talking about how shit London is and swearing we'll never come back. We climb down to the Underground station and it's chaos. Staff everywhere are setting up barriers, all the ticket machines are closed and a voice over the loud speaker is telling us that the Victoria's systems are going down. I need to top up my Oyster card but can't seem to do it anywhere. I head to the nearest attendant who is taking a barrier apart.

'Excuse me, sorry, where can I...' The guy stops what he's doing, stares straight at the floor and points a finger towards the ticket gates.
'You need to ask someone else' ...Great. Thanks buddy. We walk deeper into the station and find the last three working ticket machines. After waiting in the queue I scan my Oyster card, top up a fiver and I'm ready to go. I walk to the gate and scan it *BEEP* SEEK ASSISTANCE. Fucking hell. I walk to the gate with an attendant.

'Hi, sorry, I jus...'
'Our systems are going down, you'll have to sort it out at the other end' and she beeps me through. Whatever, she was REALLY rude, but at least we're on the way. We get our tubes and get onto the DLR to East India. A couple of stops in a guy comes round to ask for tickets, I pass him my Oyster card.

'Excuse me, you haven't paid'
'No' I say, and I explain about the systems and the lady.
'No staff would buzz you through, you haven't paid'
'No really she did, I topped up an...'
'Your balance is empty, there was no top up'
'What?! I did!' At this point everyone on the train is looking at me.
'Could you step off the train please?'
'What?!! No! I topped up! The woman... the systems!!'
Luke weighs in to help me, 'Honestly, he did top it up I saw him, the woman let him through'
'I'd like to meet this 'woman'' Says the ticket guy.
Luke tries a bit of humour, 'I'd like to see her again too, she she was pretty hot...' Nothing, not even a smile... BAD AUDIENCE.
'...Please step off the train'

We get off the train and I'm, painfully aware that he's still holding my Oyster card, train ticket and Young Persons card.

'So your name is Peter Smith?'
'You came from Brighton?'
'Ok, I'm writing you a ticket'
'WHAT?! For how much?!?!'
'What?!?!?' Pretty much the second I scream this, Luke bursts out laughing and pointing at me.
'You should have purchased a ticket like your friend'
'You didn't top up, Sir. Just give me your details' And like a fucking doyle I list off my address and postcode and agree to pay the fine in the next £21 days or it will go up to £50. So, so far my journey has cost me £34 train fare, £5 'missing' Oyster card top up and a fine of at least £25. FUCK OFF LONDON.

Fuck me, this is turning into an essay....

Anyway, the next day I went into the centre of London to meet Sam. I get there early, and have a walk around Holborne. Everyone is rude as fuck and seems to not see me so after about ten minutes of pricks walking into me and not saying sorry decide to find some booze. It's just gone midday so I find a little pub off the beaten track and think maybe I'll get some peace and quiet. I walk in and the fucking place is rammed already. Wall to wall yuppies in suits playing on their iPhones. I think again, but remember that alcohol is the answer and go to the bar to order a pint. 'That's £4.60 please...' You're fucking KIDDING?! After two pints I feel like I've been mugged. £9.20 for two drinks is a fucking disgrace.

After getting horrifically lost, I meet up with Sam and go to a museum. After an hour or so of looking at aborted things in jars, we make a move. We need to walk about a mile to pick up Sam's bags and then another mile to the tube station. It takes fucking AGES. Everyone is barging into us, walking in front of us and rushing past us. I swear it nearly took an hour just to get to the bags. then we walked to the station. At this point I snap and decide to play 'Hardest Rock'. I walk in a straight line, not moving for anyone. After a couple of minutes of knocking people (and one small child) out of my way I think better of it. I decide I can't become one of these London Cunts, I would rather die then join them. And I go back to ducking out of other peoples way.

We reached the tube station bang on rush hour but there's a problem, two of the four entrances are closed. There is a crackly voice coming over the P.A. telling people that to 'ease over crowding' they have closed two entrances so we need to use one on the others. THIS MAKES NOT FUCKING SENSE!!!!! Surely to ease over crowding you should OPEN two more entrances, not CLOSE them... SURELY?!

EURRRGGHHHHH.... By this time the little glimmer of hope that lives in my head has died and all I can think about is drowing myself in a bathtub. We crossed the road (getting beeped at by taxis) and forced our way into the stairway. I felt like I was a Gladiator in Ancient Rome walking into the arena, only instead of Italian virgins throwing rose petals over me, I have a sweaty deadlocked prick, leaning over the barriers, pushing a newspaper in my face 'Evening Standard, mate? Wanna Standard? Do ya?' NO! NO I FUCKING DON'T! FUCKING FUCK OFF!! FUCK FUCKING OFFFFFF!!!!!

ARRRRRGGGHHHHH!!!! London is a fucking HOLE. It is overcrowded to fuck and everyone acts like a fucking CUNT. It terrifies me that I may be going to University there next year. I'm really tempted to withdraw my application and refuse to step foot in anywhere closer to the centre than Kingston from now on. I really can't understand how people can move there. Two of my friends moved last Summer... Rather them than me. Fuck that place. So there you go, my two days in London.

The whole time I felt like one of those cartoon characters that has a small rain cloud over their head that follows them around all day. How can anyone like the place? Seriously?! The sheer amount of people, the noise, the smell, the pollution, the light pollution, the tube, the smugness of the residents, the tourists, the prices, the disgusting fucking Thames, the shit tourist sites... fucking everything. I wish the ground would open up and swallow the place whole.

Thursday, 3 March 2011

Gillian McKeith

It is a truly perplexing world that we live in when somehow the ideas of Gillian McKeith are entertained for even a second. This witch "doctor" has become one of the leading nutritionists in the UK, despite her collosally irritating personality and more than dubious credentials. These are my top reasons for desperately clasping for the remote when this excrement detective opens her dead behind the eyes face....

  • You are what you eat- If you have been unfortunate enough to watch this horrendous spectacle, then you will have seen "Dr" McQueef" relentlessly pester and bully fat people into changing their frankly disgusting diets into something that has been approved by the fetid ginger skeleton herself. Her colourful use of scare tactics have an overwhelming sense of callousness that is unmatched, and the extreme lengths that these shock tactics go to are appauling! It is difficult to see how her intentions are good when she leads her hapless obese pets out into their gardens to be confronted by a tombstone made of chocolate and butter, with their name ominously spelled out on it like she's the fucking "Ghost of Christmas Past" showing Flabaneezer Huge what will happen if he doesn't end his revolting fat binge!
  • Doctor? Bitch please!- Dr (?) Gillian McKeith has been mired in controversy since details of her false accreditation from "The University of Make Believe, Lollypop Lane, Faketown, Neverland, USA" were eventually investigated. Dr Doolittle was subsequently forced to remain from referring to herself as an accredited Doctor, and has since adopted the far less impressive moniker of "holistic nutritionist"....a title that screams "new age hippie ballbag" to me. When I think of a doctor, I would never associate the aggressive manner or cold indifference that Ms McKeith insensitively doles out to her patients with a REAL professional...people would simply not stand for it. The seemingly endless practice of becoming a fully qualified doctor is a long and arduous process, and for this charlatan to claim that she has earned this title is an insult to doctors worldwide. If PHD was an ackronym for "Permanent Head Damage", I think she would have undoubtably graduated as a fully qualified nutjob with flying colours!
  • "The Awful Poo Lady"- Ms McKeith (now that we have established she is not a doctor) has rightfully earned this nickname for her unhealthy obsession towards the fecal matter of the unhealthy. She excitedly disects and sifts through the rancid droppings of others like Indiana Jones on a treasure hunt, taking great pleasure in highlighting the malnourished subject that she's wrist deep in. I often think that she collects mementos of her patients excrement and stores it in a macabre methodical ritual, labelling her subjects for later enjoyment like a serial killer and their grisly trophies.
  • Odd grasp of human biology- For a supposed expert, Ms McKeith lacks an important understanding of even the most basic scientific conventions. Here is an example...Ms Mckeith once absurdly claimed that eating chlorophyl would be beneficial to an individuals health due to to its concentrated oxygen content, which had the ability to oxygenate the blood. if you are unfamiliar with chlorophyl, it is a pigment found in plants and algae that is an essential part of photosynthesis (if you don't know what photosynthesis is then go back to school!). In order for photosynthesis to occur, there must be light for the plant to absorb. This begs the question, how would chorophyl become oxygenated without a light source? Is she proposing that we shove a flashlight up our anus and photosynthesise internally? Surely this is proof enough that her grasp of science is not professionally sound, and her words should not be held with any regard.

(The after effects of Ms McKeith's attempt to vaidate her point by internally photosynthesising with the use of a 10" torch)

I think that Ms McKeith has dishonestly profited off of those that believed her to be an accredited expert, and was allowed to peddle her snake oil advice unchallenged for too long. Whilst the intentions of a professional intent on changing an individuals diet for the better is honorable, I feel that the advice of a quack like Gillian McKeith is null and void due to her highly questionable credentials and scientifically incorrect statements. When you combine this with her ugly attention seeking personality, you are left with an incredibly dislikeable person that is more than worthy of a hateful rant!

If you truly are what you eat, I dread to think of the repellant poison that Gillian McKeith has been hungrily stuffing herself with....