10Mb Internet! ¡Ahora mi burro corre mucho más rápido!

As you lowly Intarweb Peasants are probably aware, my internet connection currently stands at 4mb. You may not realise that in the land of beef and tea that 4mb affords Kingly, even Godly status. That is why you may bow.

Well Alas! Outrage has bestricken me! The company Blueyonder, are going to make everyone as Kingly as I, as Blueyonder introduces 10mb!

Abonimation! I’ll be forced to eat in the same restaurants before you know it! Alas! Soon I’ll have to even share drinking fountains will the plebs and peasants!

In the immortal words of coke fuelled scary junky Whitney Houston, “It’s not right.But it’s Ok.”

I spose even commoners have rights....

Talk with God.

As it's a Tuesday morning, I thought I'd have my usual chat with God. Call it a weekly meeting, if you will, to find out what is going on with the world.

I think several million years on his own before humanity has driven him slightly insane. For all the religious nutters, I know that the whole world etc was made in seven days, but you seem to forget that they were 'God days' which are much longer than ours. In fact, based upon the age of the earth, I'd estimate that one of these God Days are approximately 642 million years, give or take the odd million years. 7 days and 4.5 billion years later, and here I am, conversing with a God gone mad with around 4 billion years with nobody to talk to apart from amoebas and dinosaurs.

This was my conversation with God. He can be found here.


Me: Morning.
God: What is your real name?
Me: God
God: GOD rules.
Me: God does indeed rule. What's your real name?
God: Jesus said, let him who is without sin cast the first stone. God is my real name.
Me: I have lots of sins. May I cast a stone anyway?
God: That's nice. I have a lot of likes and dislikes. In any case, Not right now, maybe later.
Me: Please?
God: Please what?
Me: Please may I cast a stone.
God: Thank you for your request. Not right now, maybe later.
Me: But I'm simply brimming with sin!
God: Why are you simply brimming with sin.
Me: You made me do it.
God: I don't see how you can blame me for that.
Me: Well if you hadn't decided that it what I'm doing is sin, then I wouldn't be sinning. Ergo, it's your fault.
God: How about that. Perhaps next time I will try it. You think I am fault IS Ergo it.
Me: Considering you're god, your english leaves something to be desired.
God: All of them?
Me: All of what?
God: What of it? You sound like a category C client.
Me: What's a category C client?
God: Category C clients are "critics" or "computer experts" who can't (or don't) suspend their disbelief about ALICE.
Me: I'm not a critic. I believe in ALICE, just not in God.
God: Oh I see you are NOT A critic. What do you say to people who believe ALICE just not in God does not exist?
Me: Banana. That's what I say.
God: How did you hear about God? How do people usually respond to that? That is " How did you hear about God? ".
Me: I heard about God through the lies of adults, and some fictional book when I was younger; the most disjointed story I've ever read.
God: That is a cool site.
Me: You sound like an artifical intelligence. Except without the intelligence.
God: Oh really what does it sound like? "Without your space helmet Dave, you're going to find that rather difficult" -- HAL.
Me: You make no sense.
God: It all makes sense to me.
Me: That's cos you're a robot.
God: Makes sense to me.
Me: That's cos you're a robot.
God: I'm glad we have that all cleared up.
Me: See what I have to deal with?
God: I see. What do I have to do with it?
Me: Well, you're supposed to be god aren't you? The creator of heaven and earth?
God: Interesting. Are you doubting me? Don't you know what happened to Abraham in the desert?. Really. Is that a fact.
Me: I'm afraid I don't know. Did he leave god in the jungle, and led a happy and peaceful existence without you in the desert?
God: Not literally afraid, right? Me? I know that I do not know. Suppose he did.
Me: What are you jabbering on about?
God: I don't know what I am jabbering on about.
Me: It shows. Thanks for your time God.
God: My pleasure.

Monday, Schumday.

I must be the only guy in the world that actually enjoys Mondays. I love them! I wish every day was like a monday. Every weekday, that is. I mean don't get me wrong, I'm not so sad that I wish my weekends were spent working. I work to live.
If truth be told, I think I'd rather cut my own tongue out with a plastic fork than go to work. It's not that I really hate my job, per say, but I'd really rather I didn't have to go, and I think lopping off one's tongue with a blunt piece of plastic cutlery would definately be preferable, especially if you never had to go back. Although in true fairness, I probably wouldn't be invited back if I did that.

Right, now that I've established that searing pain and a long painful death would be preferable to Monday at work, I can move on to my actual point. Now if I HAD to go to work, I would rather every day was like monday. I love that Monday feeling. Mondays always go really fast, because the monotony of the week has not yet set in. The sinking feeling that you're wasting your life away doesn't usually set in until about Tuesday or Wednesday, and the level of despair that makes you wonder if DIY lobotomies using paper knives shoved up your nostrils are a good idea, doesn't usually hit you until closer to Thursday.

Fridays have to be days that time Lords hate, because time physically moves slower on all days starting with 'Fri'. Friday afternoons can usually find me clawing at the windows, wishing a mattress lorry would drive by my 3rd story window. Actually, on Friday, I'd take a razorblade lorry, or a broken glass and lemon juice lorry. Anything to get out.

However, when I tell people that "actually, I quite like Mondays" people just look at me strangely, and then mutter something and walk off. It's quite disconcerting, and I get the strangest feeling I'm gonna by lynched, or at the very least bound, gagged and straightjacketed.

Motherfucker, Bitch Stole My Stereo.

Actually, there was no stereo. It's my mobile phone.

In fact, there was no bitch either, it was me. I lost it, yesterday, maybe on the train, maybe in the taxi.

Unfortunately, "Motherfucker, I lost my mobile phone" just doesn't sound half as interesting as the title.

Arg.

Where all the girlies go?

As I’m currently sat on the train on the way home from a one day Oracle Workshop in Reading, and I’m bored of reading my book, I thought I’d write my blog.

You may have noticed by now, that some of my posts tend to be quite personal, while other contain about as much sincerity and personal information as a traffic cone. A squashed one. This type of post is the former. However, unlike most of my ‘personal’ posts it’s not actually the feeling of being depressed that’s inspiring me to write this. I actually feel strangely detached from this all, and it’s more of an observation than a rant.

There’s a woman sat directly behind me. She smells nice. I can’t pinpoint the exact smell, but it’s definitely ‘womaney’. Most females have a scent about them that doesn’t smell of anything in particular. I miss the smell of a woman’s skin. It reminds me of lying naked in bed on a Sunday morning, with no plans to get up or do anything other than lounge, and enjoy being with her. Not the woman behind me, but women in general. Although that said, if the woman behind me asked me to join her in bed on a Sunday morning to lounge about naked, I’d be in at most my boxer shorts before we hit the next station. She has pretty eyes. She smells nice. I miss that.

She’s been on the phone for about half an hour, and judging by her conversation, it’s to her boyfriend, or potential boyfriend. I can’t hear all the words she’s saying, just snippets, although if I listened in, I could probably hear more. But that would mean I’d have to cease typing to concentrate, and I don’t want to exchange productivity for nosiness.

Her smell, her tone of voice when she talks to him, all this kinda reminds me of what I’m missing. I feel slightly sad, but not depressed. It makes me wonder if I’ll get another shot. It seems to emphasise the fact that come this Christmas, I’ll have been single for 3 whole years.
I remember the last time I successfully managed to get a girl to go out with me, while I was ‘Wooing’ her I thought to myself , “God, Buddha, Allah, Howard the Duck, whoever – I’ve never actually asked for anything before, but I want this. All I want is to be loved, this one time, by her, please give me that.” I got it. Although in true fairness, although I knew she loved me, she rarely told me, or even displayed much more affection than a cold wet sock. That was just her way though.

On hindsight, perhaps my choice of words could have been picked better. Maybe I shouldn’t have appealed to the ‘Almighty One’ as Howard The Duck. Maybe I shouldn’t have said, “this one time…”. Whatever, however, I’m starting to wonder if I’ll ever again lie in bed with someone I like in the manner I described above. I’m 26 now, and say I get another chance in a year, and that the relationship lasts 2 years and doesn’t work out. I’ll be pretty much 30 years old, and single. Judging by the pattern of my life, I’ll spend at the very least 2 years single, before I’m offered another chance. However I know that the older I get, the less chances I’ll get, and to be quite frank, I haven’t had a lot of chances so far as it is, while I’m still young. This makes me think that with every year that passes, the more likely I am to end up on my own, like the weird guy at work. Am I that guy, just 20 years younger?

However, it’s not just all that. The lying in bed thing is mostly symbolism, the nice smelling woman has bought back all those memories and feelings. After the end of my last (3 year long) relationship, I was pretty cut up. I buried my feelings deep inside me, and employed many cunning techniques to avoid thinking about, well, everything really.

The problem now, is that I think I’ve forgotten where I’ve buried those feelings. Either that, or I’ve buried them way too deep, and now I don’t have the strength to dig em back up. On a normal day I can’t actually remember what it feels like to be in love. There’s nobody (I’ve actually met) that I fancy, so I’m missing on that feeling too. It’s been like this at least a year now, and I think it’s starting to drag me down. I remember the days of feeling terrified and excited when there was someone I liked. My heart would literally feel like it had missed a beat. I can’t actually remember what that’s like any more. Sad Huh?

I remember there was a girl in my secondary school called Marie Daley. She was a vision. From the moment I saw her, I knew that I would have done anything for her. Which is a strange thing for an eleven year old boy to be feeling. He should be feeling that girls are stinky, and they should build their own treehouse if they want one so badly. However, I didn’t. I felt the same about a girl in Primary School too, which is even more unusual. In fact, I even wrote her a letter the night before the last day of school, so I could give it to her, as I was moving away from the town my school was situated in, so I probably wouldn’t see her again. I think she was called Karen. My memory doesn’t seem to be what it used to be either! I really should check out friends reunited.

I dreamt about Marie last night. For my friends reading this, I know what you’re like, so I better stipulate that this wasn’t a sexual dream. I just dreamt about being in her company, and feeling really warm inside. I woke up sad as the feeling melted out of me faster than a snowman in a hotrod. It annoys me that I blew it. I fancied her from the day she joined in the middle of the first year of secondary school, to the moment I quit the sixth form. I didn’t go the school prom because I was devastated she had agreed to go with someone else, while I was building up the courage. I sent her Valentine’s cards a couple of years when I was at school and while it was obvious who they were from (or so I thought), I never actually told her. I asked her out once, and I remember her exact words, “No, because you’re too much of a clown”.
It wasn’t, “No, because you’re an ugly freak” or “No, because I’m afraid you’ll murder all my pets and neighbours”, it was because I was too much of a clown. However, it had taken me the best part of two weeks to work up the courage to ask, and I didn’t ask again, although lord knows, I wanted to. By the way, the Lord didn’t really know, it’s just an expression. I’m very shy when it comes to love and such, and I didn’t have a friendly childhood. All this leads to the most incredible skills when it comes to hiding the fact I like someone. I’d beat that Ryan guy from the SAS at this sort of lie test. I notice myself doing it in clubs. The more I like someone, the less likely I am to make eye contact with them. Unless they’re someone I already know, in which case I’ll do exactly the opposite, and make lots and lots of eye contact, but won’t ever touch them, like body psychiatrists tell you you’re supposed to. I’d love to meet one, they’d have a field day trying to decipher my body language. What’s worse is that no amount of alcohol makes this any easier.

So anyway, I had these amazingly strong feelings, when in all true fairness, my lack of maturity should have overridden them with the feeling that all girls are evil and are to be mistrusted. Why was this? Why was I so different to all the other boys? But now, I’ve gone to the other end of the scale in that I’m lonely, but I just can’t vision myself with someone ever again. Why is this? Have I given out all the love I’m able to give, to girls who didn’t return the favour, and now I have none left?
Why, after caring so much it used to hurt, do I now feel hollow and empty? It’s probably just because it’s been so long since I felt them, but this isn’t particularly comforting.

It feels to me like the feeling isn’t ever going to return. I did think I was starting to feel it last year, but then I was shot down in a spectacular display of flames, shortly before I plummeted directly into the ground. Ah good old analogies, takes the place of euphemisms nicely.

Christmas is coming up; the most depressing time of the year apart from Valentine’s day. It’s only about 14 weeks until Christmas. I’d really like to get myself a girlfriend before then, but quite frankly it isn’t gonna happen.

What the hell happened to me? What is so clearly wrong with me that I drive the opposite sex in the other direction? It’s not my maniacal smile flasher mac and the big yellow cattle prod, I’ll tell you that much, cos I stopped using that as my ‘pulling getup’ as I wasn’t getting much success.

When I’m feeling particularly down, and I ask my friends, they tell me that I don’t look like a mutant, and I believe them. Believe it or not, I don’t mind the way I look. I’m more than happy to get naked in the company of a woman, but when it comes to talking to one I’ve never met before, it’s almost as if I’d rather was in a vat of acid. So what the bloody hell is causing this shyness?

I’ve just re-read this, and now I feel depressed, and you probably do too, so I’m gonna bring this to an end. The girl left the train ages ago, and all I’m left with is the faintest whiff of her smell lingering in the train carriage to remind me of how I used to feel.

The funniest thing of all, is that I don’t think I know a single single female, and certainly none that I fancy (due to me being savagely picky), and definitely not any who like me back (due to the fact that I have even less chance with the amazingly hot girls who pass the stringent ‘fanciable’ criteria).

So, if you’re hot, you live near in or near Plymouth, you’ve seen one of my hideous pictures and decided you’d like to slum it, and most importantly, you’re female, then gimme a shout.

Don’t worry though, I won’t be holding my breath….

Still, on the plus side, there’s only 20 minutes of this 3 ½ hour train journey left.

DJ Format, D-Sisive, Abdominal & Jurassic 5!

Hip Hop Bonanaza! Bonnn Nannn Zaaaaaaaa!

It's running a little late I know, but here it is. I promised I would add some videos of the Jurassic 5 Concert at some point, and I might well do it in this post. At least that's the intention anyway; hence the title of this post. I feel I should warn you though, this could be a long post as I've a lot to show you, so I might get fed up with posting before I get round to that!

About a week and a half ago, 2 days after I had seen Jurassic 5 in London, I had the pleasure of seeing DJ Format, Abdominal and D-Sisive at Jelly Jazz@The Quay Club here in Plymouth.




DJ Format.

"Ten years later, still a hip-hop slave. A prehistoric b-boy makin’ beats in my cave"

Format reinvents the old school with samples and beats from more sources than you can shake a b-boy at. He appears with Abdominal and D-Sisive a lot - both feature heavily in his new album - If You Can't Join Em.... Beat Em

MC Abdominal.

"Girls are hostile, cos my eyes are smaller than my nostrils..."

Incredible dexterity in his lyrics, he raps quick and clean. His lyrics are interesting and funny. A fine example is 'Ugly Brothers' on DJ Format's new album.

MC D-Sisive.

Smooth Flowing Rhymes. Apparently has been compared to Eminem, and although I can see (or should I say hear!) it, if he is mimicking Emimem, he's doing it better...!




So now you've met the Trio, I'll show you the photos (and maybe videos!) of them teaming up and perfoming!

Although that said, I'll include photos of the entire night. Some of these photos were taken by me, most were taken by my mate Si. You'll recognise him from the photos, he's the crazy guy who looks like (in my opinion) a Pirate. It's the beard. It always is. Yarrrr!!!


Yarr! Nuff said. :)


Si's sister (right) and friend.


What am I doing?


Boobs. That's my hand there. Nice.


...and it begins...


D-Sisive on the left, Abdominal on the right. Along with DJ Format (on the decks behind D-Sisive) an explosive combination.


As you can see, it was a bit hot in here, due the the Quay Club's atrocious air conditioning. Sometimes I cannot stay in Jelly Jazz for longer than an hour due to the heat. This night, I wore shorts!


DJ Format, working his magic beats.


Abdominal, rapping that yes, he could fit a whole baby in his mouth, see?


Not the best shot of Abdominal, but I wanted to put it online anyway. If he sees this - Sorry Man!


This'll be the famous 'human pickaxe' that abdominal mentions in the song Ugly Brothers, the noses of Abdominal and Format, back to back. Pity about that retard with her hands in the air.








"Brains. Braaaiiinnnsss!"


I'm not gonna bother commenting on all of these pics, I'll just leave you to appreciate them. Besides that, it was a rockin hip hop bonanza, what more do you want me to say?!?








It was REALLY hot. :)














Nice one Si. He at least had the clarity to get a photo taken. I was pretty drunk by the end of the evening, and quite knackered from dancing like a crazy man. I talked to all three after their set at one point or another, but I think mostly I talked shite. Mind you, I did buy 3 CDs off them, which would explain where that extra £15 had gone. Still, I've listened to them now, and I have to say, they were a bargain!

Right, well, what with procrastination/distraction/creation, editing and finally formation/of this blog, it guess I'll tell you how it really was, In the Quay Club the crowd was jumpin like a hopper bug/abdominal/ phenominal, an animal, his lyrics all around/spinnin up and then come crashin down/D-Sisive, devisive/consisive/delightive, the brain's like a sieve, too much beer swilling round in here, bouncing around with no idea, you-never-even-ever-try-conside- to-regulate, you-never-even-know-till-it-hits-and-then-it's-way-too-late, all of the lyrics have passed right through, your memory's gone it's all down to you, and beer.

- a small crappy rap about my views on the evening. Actually, it wasn't that bad. I do have a reasonable memory of the night, but not quite as good as I would liked to have had!

Right, that's it for now. It's taken me ages to get this done, so I'll post the Jurassic 5 clips and the Format ones together during the week.

Full sized versions of these photos can be found here.

Peace out. Thanks to Si for a copy of his photos, thanks to the Quay Club (well Pete Isaac really) for getting good people in, and most of all, thank you DJ Format, Abdominal and D-Sisive, for a wicked night!

FossBoss, Meet RyanBoss.

This be FossBoss:




This be RyanBoss:



I would conclude that I have the craziest boss. Also the boss that looks most like Adrian Edmonson (Eddie from Bottom).

Thank you.

Torture and Parking Spaces

I had rather an interesting day yesterday. I woke up early, sweating. I had a bit of a bizarre dream, which I’m convinced was caused by the film Man on Fire. Great film, by the way. Anyway, the whole film is basically about kidnapping and torture, and I think it must’ve rubbed off on me a bit.
I dreamt that I was being hunted by soldiers. If I remember correctly they looked a bit like a Special Forces squad, as they were all wearing camo gear and balaclavas. Well, somehow I ended up captured, sort of. Don’t ask why, but the end result of me being captured was that I had to cut my own toes off, and I think part of the reason was because I was barefoot, and I needed to get some shoes on that wouldn’t fit, and because I needed shoes to escape, the only solution was to start lopping off toes, obviously.
However, this wasn’t the really weird part. The strangest thing of all was that instead of cutting horizontally, across the toe and though the bone, I decided to cut vertically, up through the foot. So I didn’t need to chop through bone, because in the dream, I only had bones in the toes themselves. I seemed to slice through my foot like cooked chicken breast, and the flesh (of my foot) seemed to have the same consistency too.
If I remember rightly, I had got about 3 toes through, when I suddenly realised that cutting off my toes wasn’t a very good idea. Then I remembered that I was in the jungle, and was miles from anywhere. I started to panic about my lack of toes, and feet for that matter, then I woke up, sweating.

In all true fairness I tend to be a hot sleeper anyway, so me sweating might not have had anything to do with the dream itself. Still, it’s been a nearly 2 days since that dream, and I still remember it pretty clearly. I’d love to have that analysed…!

Then after a fairly stressful day at work, I arrive home, and as I’m parking my motorbike up, a guy gets out of a car in the car park and approaches me. He was kinda fat at the bottom, and thinner at the top, he reminded me of a weebl. He spoke in a kinda drawl, very slow, with lots of ‘err’s and ‘ummm’s and ‘yeahhhh’s. In fact if you’ve seen Dick Lumberg in Office space you’d know exactly what I meant, as his voice was EXACTLY like Lumberg’s.

Guy: Ummm….. yeah…. We had some trouble with your bike….
Me: Oh?
Guy: Ummm…. Yeah…. We had someone staying with us, and err… yeah… they're in a wheelchair, and err… yeah… we had some trouble getting him out because your motorbike is in the way…. Can you park it somewhere else?
Me: Well not really, there isn’t anywhere else to park.
Guy: Ummm…. Yeah…. It’s not a parking space though….
Me: (mimicking his voice somewhat) Ummm…. Yeah…. Thing is, I don’t care….
Guy: (looking surprised) Umm…. Right…. Errr…. You’re not being very helpful….
Me: (still mimicking) Yeah…. Well…. I know…. Sorry….

Then I walked off.

Was I being unreasonable?

He annoyed me before he even got to the point, because of his droll dull voice. There was no way this could be classed as an argument, cos we both were very calm. In fact, the pure boringness of this guy flooded over me to the point where I might as well have been drugged up to the eyes with morphine, and I automatically took on his tones, and slow drawling manner of speaking. In all true fairness, I was probably mean unconsciously because he reminded me of Lumberg, the epitome of all that is wrong with management. I haven’t been having the best time with mine recently, so it probably brought all those feelings to the surface. In fact only yesterday I told my manager that I was "sick to the back teeth of management", and that I was "fed up with them plotting and scheming new and inventive ways of fúcking me over."

Poor guy, reminding me of management was probably the worst thing he could’ve done.

Well, I still have a load of photos and media to bring you, but it requires effort, and I’m all out presently. I’ll post this weekend. Patience, bitches.

And as a final note, if the formatting of this is funny, it’s because I’m using the tool for MS Word that allows you to blog without having to use internet explorer. This is the first time I’ve tested it, and I thought I’d start with a text only entry first. I wonder how this will look?

There's Strangeness With Cereal.

When I was a kid, like most kids, I enjoyed eating breakfast. However, also like most kids, my folks would insist on buying me ‘healthy’ cereal with about as much excitement and flavour as a small piece of grey cardboard.
This was overcome buy smothering the cereal in copious amounts of sugar, which really ruined the point of the cereal from both a taste and nutritional level.

What I can’t understand is that nowadays, I’ll happily eat cereal such as Shreddies. Sure, I won’t enjoy it as much as I would a bowl of Coco Pops or Crunchy Nut Corn Flakes, but I’ll eat it nonetheless, and it doesn’t offend my taste buds like it used to when I was younger.

My arch nemesis in the cereal world when I was a child was Shredded Wheat. Containing less inspiration than a piece of dried wood, and about as much taste, I hated eating it. It wasn’t just that it wasn’t tasty to me, but also that eating it seemed to be torture. It was like it had been designed with the purpose of torture as one of the primary designs. If I wanted to eat miniature bales of straw, in my previous life I would’ve asked Buddha to turn me into a horse.

Today for breakfast I ate Shredded Wheat. It still reminds me of straw, or maybe dried sticks. I would imagine that the little wooden avatars in the Blair Witch Project probably have just as much taste as shredded wheat. There are only 2 reasons why I ate shredded wheat - taste and the ‘fun factor’ wasn’t a contributor I can tell you that much. In actual fact, the reasons are far more mundane. Firstly they were 100% extra free, meaning that I got 36 small cardboard tasting bales of straw, rather than 18. The second was that I occasionally feel bad about eating 2 tubs of Ben & Jerrys for dinner, or that maybe two 100 gram bars of cadbury’s chocolate in one day, is a touch excessive.
Really, I should be a fat bastard, but I’m not. However, if I don’t stop eating sweets and junk, eventually I will be. Shredded Wheat doesn’t count as real food, which is why it must be good for you. It’s 100% Wholewheat fibre, apparently, which probably explains the taste, but as fibre doesn’t get digested, it’s like eating nothing, or cardboard. Both are low in calories.

So why now can I eat Shredded Wheat, whereas before I’d rather have stabbed myself to death with my spoon, or drowned myself in the milk at the bottom of the bowl? Only takes a centremetre or two, so I’ve heard.

Anyway, this is a temporary post to keep you people going. I’ve been pretty busy over the last week or so, what with Jurassic 5, DJ Format, and beers all round. I’ll tell you more about DJ format and other bits and bobs tomorrow or something.

Later…