tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11947407869471004092024-03-05T08:22:20.686+00:00Rage and BiscuitsChallenger is go!jiminycrickethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09128935944994988976noreply@blogger.comBlogger83125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1194740786947100409.post-77826154788615149932008-12-12T02:30:00.003+00:002008-12-12T02:51:42.368+00:00Practically deadHey vast empty internet.<br /><br />This blog has kind of died in the ass. Maybe it'll be revived, maybe not. At the moment, the prognosis is grim.<br /><br />Eventually, I may set up a new blog, but in the meantime, i'm on twitter <a href="http://www.twitter.com/jhcrow">here</a>. Come follow me like I'm the Pied Piper of Hamelin and you're all a bunch of entranced German children.jiminycrickethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09128935944994988976noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1194740786947100409.post-84949331707372297272008-07-29T17:12:00.003+01:002008-07-29T17:17:40.451+01:00Time fliesEspecially when you're busy travelling all around Europe and shit.<br /><br />That's why I haven't written lately. We've been travelling our asses off and I haven't had time, nor have I wanted to take time out to write a post. Although now we have a lazy week in San Sebastian, Spain so I'm writing this so you know this isn't completely dead. It's close, but not completely.<br /><br />Maybe when we get back hoem in November, I'll write about things more often on here.<br /><br />In the meantime, just be thankful your keyboard isn't covered in weird-ass symbols and you have the @ symbol in a location that doesn't require you to have twelve fingers to get all the pertinent keys pressed. Also, who in the hell has a keyboard with a 'q' where the 'a' should be?<br />What are these? Foreign languages?<br />Ridiculous. I bet they don't even have normal food in these places.jiminycrickethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09128935944994988976noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1194740786947100409.post-66787907157323687102008-06-13T10:50:00.003+01:002008-06-13T11:03:40.428+01:00Music and GeekeryThis is brilliant.<br /><br />Radiohead + Old computing artifacts = Awesome<br /><br />It all kicks off just after the one minute mark.<br /><object height="225" width="400"> <param name="allowfullscreen" value="true"> <param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"> <param name="movie" value="http://www.vimeo.com/moogaloop.swf?clip_id=1109226&server=www.vimeo.com&show_title=1&show_byline=1&show_portrait=0&color=&fullscreen=1"> <embed src="http://www.vimeo.com/moogaloop.swf?clip_id=1109226&server=www.vimeo.com&show_title=1&show_byline=1&show_portrait=0&color=&fullscreen=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" allowscriptaccess="always" height="225" width="400"></embed></object><br /><a href="http://www.vimeo.com/1109226?pg=embed&sec=1109226">Big Ideas (don't get any)</a> from <a href="http://www.vimeo.com/user354216?pg=embed&sec=1109226">James Houston</a> on <a href="http://vimeo.com/?pg=embed&sec=1109226">Vimeo</a>.<br />Way better than anything that anyone did for the <a href="http://www.radioheadremix.com/">Nude remix project</a>jiminycrickethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09128935944994988976noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1194740786947100409.post-31071674953215128622008-05-27T09:39:00.004+01:002008-05-27T09:52:34.533+01:00Sometimes it's all a bit surreal.Especially when you're sitting at the bar of your local <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Blind_Beggar">historic pub</a> (which has a vending machine in the bathroom that sells blow-up sheep sex dolls, vibrators and viagra) drinking a pint of cider, watching one of the pub cats sleep on a bar stool, whilst Mean Girls plays on a plasma screen, its sound drowned out by a string of Garth Brooks songs. Meanwhile, a burly Welsh man and a small Indian guy stand at the jukebox arguing over whether to play more Garth Brooks or some Ice Cube.jiminycrickethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09128935944994988976noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1194740786947100409.post-90189708298016939672008-05-27T09:39:00.001+01:002008-05-27T09:39:25.452+01:00Sometimes it's all a bit surreal.jiminycrickethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09128935944994988976noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1194740786947100409.post-54442382540334812512008-05-08T00:01:00.002+01:002008-05-08T00:17:40.075+01:00Dear dude that used the toilet at work before me,Hi.<br />It's super awesome that you enjoy corn. I like corn too. The good thing about corn is it's in so many foods. Like popcorn. And creamed corn. But you have my respect for sticking with good old fashioned corn kernels. You're a straight shooter. I like that.<br />If I might just make a little suggestion though; One of the benefits of corn is that it's pretty handy when it comes to the whole nutrient provision stakes. If you want to harness the awesome power that is Corn Energyâ„¢, maybe you should try chewing your corn. Not only will it help you digest all that corn, it also means you'll probably choke a bunch less than you currently do whilst trying to woof down those little-kernels-of-joy whole.<br />The other good thing about chewing your corn is that when I use the toilet after you, I'm not greeted by a tiny armada of yellow buoys, bobbing away in the bowl, marking the area in which you recently shat. As nice as it is to be greeted by your little golden battleships, I do prefer my toilets to be corn-free zones.<br />If you could look into the whole mastication process, it would be greatly appreciated.<br />Best of luck with all your future endeavours, corn related and otherwise.<br /><br />Sincerely,<br /><br />Jiminyjiminycrickethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09128935944994988976noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1194740786947100409.post-25344436042942088692008-05-04T17:46:00.006+01:002008-05-04T19:34:24.278+01:00Hair things and blocks that stick together to make other things.I saw a guy on the bus just now who had the craziest beard ever. Crazy as in, if the members of self-titled-album-era <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Whitesnake</span> joined into some hair metal <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Voltron</span> and attached to this guys, chin, it would look exactly like this beard. He may have been a wizard for all I know.<br />Dude had serious beard.<br /><br />There were at least three distinct beards within the greater beard. Clearly the point of his chin was the no-nonsense, straight-up long <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">greyish</span> beard producing zone. To either side of this existed a small area which would be described as 'deep rough', were his mandible a golf course.<br />Needless to say, his mandible was not a golf course and he just had a shitload of long unkempt hair hanging off his face.<br />Moving away from the chin up towards the cheeks, there was the crazy zone. The area just behind his cheekbones was clearly receiving a rich supply of insane hormones. Or maybe it's where he shot up his crack, cos the facial hair here was the most abundant and ridiculous I've ever encountered.<br />Think <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">perma</span>-perm. Tight, bouncy <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">perma</span>-perm. It was like a hundred thousand tiny <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">slinkys</span> attempting to cascade down his face. I wondered how he ate, how many biscuits were hidden within, how many orangutans had given birth betwixt his dense growth. I wondered if there was a Predator lurking within, hunting down a team of commandos...<br />Whilst I was busy wondering this, the owner of the beard glared at me. It would seem I had been staring. Considering I'd run off on such a tangent, I probably was staring at him with a bit of a crazy face too.<br />What does he expect though, his face is basically a portable zoo.<br /><br />I'm probably just jealous though, because I have the facial hair growing ability of an 8 year old girl. With alopecia. Facial alopecia.<br />I think if I collected all the hair I've ever shaved off my face, I could probably weave it into a piece of string that would be long enough to maybe tie around your thumb. Although I don't think you could weave my facial hair. The limited facial hair i do grow is hardcore, like tiny bits of fishing line. But not that weak-ass fly-fishing line, more like off-shore blue marlin style fishing line.<br />In years gone by, aboriginal tribes used to gather around my bathroom window and I'd throw them my facial hair trimmings and they'd hollow them out and turn them into didgeridoos. In return they'd make me beaded necklaces.<br />For <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">reals</span>.<br /><br />The <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">flipside</span> to this is that I have totally kick ass head-hair growing abilities. The rate at which hair grows from my head is off the chain. (I'm sorry, but there was no other way to convey that)<br />I try to keep it on the down-low these days, but I used to have big hair. Like, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">afro</span> big. When my hair grows long, it doesn't fall around my ears. It's not endearing. It's not even foppish. It could only be described as 'Furry <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">Deathstar</span>'.<br />Imagine if Macy Gray and a thousand <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">blaxploitation</span> actors from the 70's had a massive orgy in a big round topiary bush. My hair would be the love child borne of this tryst.*<br /><br />A mate and I had a competition in our last year of high school to see who could grown the biggest <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">afro</span>.<br />I think I cut mine first, but mainly because 40 degree heat and 4 kilos of hair on your head don't mix. Also it smelt weird. Also, because I went in for a trim one day and the hairdresser said to me "Oh, there's a stick in here."<br />So i guess I lost.<br />The other reason I lost is that we were hanging out watching a movie one day and my mate was scratching his head, then pulled out a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">lego</span> block.<br />He's not even a magician, so this was totally awesome. The only way i could trump that would be to discover a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">Duplo</span> block in my hair and no one has <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">Duplo</span> except for 3 year <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15">olds</span> and special needs people. The blocks are so fucking big that unless you had a designated <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16">Duplo</span> storage room in your house, the maximum number of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17">Duplo</span> blocks you could have in one place at any given time was about 7. 7 rectangles that stick together. What a bunch of fun that is.<br />Even young Stumpy <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_18">McNo</span>-Arms from next door could play with <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_19">Duplo</span>.<br />What an unfortunate coincidence that his parent's surnames were <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_20">McNo</span> and Arms. And they called him Stumpy! And he had no forearms/hands. Terrible really. Such inconsiderate parents.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7QCCG_TTq4NKmLC5Mz3vRuUve3-QK_bEiMqw8p0LuAUNGqa3AiyhntkfBWh-t-jpie0UthxtUQ8P5CV9t6dFh8gl-pG-dUuVOOJZuE5KE5X-MFGLaOD_cOjnYm0JYf-9zi5ckwa9NaXo/s1600-h/duplovlego.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7QCCG_TTq4NKmLC5Mz3vRuUve3-QK_bEiMqw8p0LuAUNGqa3AiyhntkfBWh-t-jpie0UthxtUQ8P5CV9t6dFh8gl-pG-dUuVOOJZuE5KE5X-MFGLaOD_cOjnYm0JYf-9zi5ckwa9NaXo/s320/duplovlego.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5196577029962759650" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;">Stumpy did good? You did real good Stumpy. Real Good.</span><br /></div><br />So I lost. My mate won. We both cut our hair and regained our standing as decent humans.<br />If I could have found some <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_21">Duplo</span> though, I would have been king. King of Hair. I could of had my own Hair-em. I would have been a modern day Robin of Locks-<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_22">ley</span>. I would have... err.. I'm out of hair puns. <br /><br />Anyways, hair has been a prevailing them of late. The Girl just got her hair done and it looks pretty ace, I need a haircut because the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_23">afro</span> is <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_24">respawning</span> and I need to destroy it before it envelops me and a guy at work was involved in a hair related incident the other night. One of the guys, Chris, was telling me he couldn't help overhearing the dude behind him speaking to someone on the phone.<br />Apparently they were calling people on behalf of a cancer charity and the dude was getting way too into it and asking some pretty inconsiderate questions. Chris thought nothing of it, but then he heard this little slice of fried gold:<br /><br />"Oh so do you know anyone that's been through chemotherapy?"<br />"Oh <span style="font-style: italic;">you </span>have been?"<br />"Wow. Did you lose all your hair?"<br />"Fantastic!!"<br />"So anyway, we're calling to ask for donations for...."<br /><br />Wow. Nice work pilot-knob!<br /> I'm sure everyone that's been through chemo thinks it's 'Fantastic'.<br />"Oh you're sterile too? FANTASTIC!"<br />I'm pretty sure when people are diagnosed with leukaemia they get a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_25">flyer</span> that says "Need Chemo? FANTASTIC! Scared about losing your hair? FANTASTIC! You've got leukaemia? That's right- FANTASTIC!"<br /><br />What a douche. I bet he had a beard. Or at least a bucket of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_26">Duplo</span>.<br /><br /><br /><br />*<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_27">Ok</span>, the use of borne/born is hells confusing in this instance. I'm going with borne, as nouns aside, I think it is the most grammatically correct form to use in this phrase.<br />Correct me if I'm wrong though. I think I'm a bit paranoid after the whole canape ordeal.<br /><br />Also, include Art Garfunkel in the orgy scene.jiminycrickethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09128935944994988976noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1194740786947100409.post-65026957580242345402008-04-29T13:05:00.003+01:002008-04-29T13:49:25.163+01:00Putting the 'Hi' into HiatusWow.<br />It's been aaaaages.<br />Turns out this whole 'real life' business can be a time consuming pain in the ass.<br /><br />So yeah, I've been busy sorting out travel plans, working fuckloads and doing assorted other junk.<br /><br />Still, not much to write at the moment as I'm kinda overloaded in the head.<br /><br />Here's a tip for y'all though:<br />If you're emailing a relatively large number of highly ranked, government communications staff, don't get distracted and try to work out the correct spelling of hors d'oeuvres using only the powers of your mind.<br />Mainly because it will be discovered that the powers of your mind are in fact categiorized as 'Feeble' after you realise you've just sent out a batch email with the text "hors ordeavues" sitting just below the "Dear [important government person]" part.<br /><br />Yeah, my bad.<br />I think the government have now tagged me as a "Special-Needs Child" in their database.<br />Next time I'll just write canapes instead.<br /><br />One of these days, everything will chill the fuck out for a bit and I'll get back to posting with more regularity. Bring on the literary Metamucil!<br /><br />Back to the grindstone...jiminycrickethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09128935944994988976noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1194740786947100409.post-71477669165583787022008-04-18T16:12:00.001+01:002008-04-18T16:25:32.381+01:00Oh, how sweet.Upon my entering the unisex toilets at work:<br /><br />"I'd use the other loo if I was you."<br /><br />See, the ladies I work with are actually really, really considerate.jiminycrickethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09128935944994988976noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1194740786947100409.post-85579546733512789732008-04-16T14:10:00.004+01:002008-04-16T14:59:25.103+01:00Like all decent humans, I hate Crocs.I just found out that I am the only person in my office that is vehemently opposed to the wearing of Crocs. If you don't know what crocs are, you must live in one of the few remaining pristine, Croc free zones. Consider yourself lucky.<br />It pains me to even capitalise the word Crocs as it feels like I'm validating their existence.<br />Apparently, my colleagues think Crocs all sorts of things, like 'nifty' and 'lightweight' and worst of all, 'funky'.<br />This differs from my description of Crocs which often includes words such as 'fucked', 'shithouse' and 'slap-in-the-face-to-all-thinking-humans.'<br /><br />Goddammit people, what the fuck?<br /><br />Although I may have overstepped the mark in expressing my dislike for them whilst conversing with the banshee manager (The BM).<br /><br />The BM: Oh yeah, my family all have crocs, even my little boy has a pair and he loves them! In fact, we all went to go out the other day and I said to my husband, "We can't all go out wearing crocs! Hahaha!"<br /><br />Me: Ha, yeah because I know if I saw a whole family wearing crocs, I'd drive up over the kerb and run them over! Bam! Natural Selection! Hahaha!<br /><br />The BM: [Shocked look accompanied by awkward silence.]<br /><br />Me: [As my maniacal laughter fades] Err... Yeah, I'm gonna make lunch now.<br /><br />Does anyone know if there's an animal that's higher up the food chain than the crocodile? I can't think of one. If I could I would make a pair of shoes and call them "[Abbreviated term for an animal higher up the food chain than the crocodile]" and their soles would be made from melted down Crocs and the upper would be made from the skin of the people I caught wearing Crocs in public.jiminycrickethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09128935944994988976noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1194740786947100409.post-81013720454157316072008-04-16T08:45:00.002+01:002008-04-16T10:13:22.694+01:00Good or bad?You're a pigeon trapped inside a cafeteria/concourse/common area in a university.<br />There's no other pigeon folk in the building, which makes you sad as you get lonely and have no one to coo at.<br />You do however have unimpeded access to ALL THE CRUMBS and all; the shelter.<br /><br />Although, you don't have any sticks to make a nest out of and the floor is made of shiny marble, so you slip over a lot.<br /><br />Is this a good thing or a bad thing?<br /><br />Pigeons of the world, I want to know your opinions.jiminycrickethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09128935944994988976noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1194740786947100409.post-35383577859439916372008-04-14T22:43:00.005+01:002008-04-15T00:01:31.575+01:00What has our protagonist gotten himself into now?Hands up if you spent 16 hours over the weekend locked in a room with thirty people learning the 'science' of making a phone call?<br /><br />No? Anyone? Just me then.<br />Damn.<br /><br />Boy was it tough. Painful. Demoralising. Patronising. Conceited.<br />Imagine being spoken to like a 3 year old for 16 hours.<br />Then add in a fuck-wad who insists on relating everything the trainer says to his past job where he was some salesperson <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">extraordinaire</span>. A past job where he... wait for it....<br /><br />... sold double glazing. Could you be a more stereotypical shit salesman type asshole?<br /><br />I got into an argument with this guy over lunch as he wanted to tell everyone how he went on a twelve day sales course and is now some psychological superpower. Dude thought he was Professor Charles Xavier. He insisted that he could manipulate anyone into doing anything he wants by getting them to answer questions that form a response pattern. Then, (wait for it) HE CHANGES THE PATTERN SO YOU SAY YES TO HIS REQUEST!<br /><br />Pfft. Fuck off Uri Geller.<br />I told him he sounded stupid and I'd never buy anything from him ever.<br />He told me I'm the sort of person he loves to sell to, because he loves it when they eventually fall for his ploys and buy whatever it is he's selling.<br />I told him he couldn't<span style="font-style: italic;"> </span>sell to someone<span style="font-style: italic;">, </span>if they weren't buying anything, hated him and thought that what he was selling was shit.<br />A girl in the group asked him when he'd been brainwashed.<br />He mumbled some pseudo-psych bullshit and went out for a cigarette.<br />I finished my mashed potato and imagined fun ways I could severely injure him.<br />I also postulated that guys with long vulture necks and giant adam's apples are always fuckwits. I base this on knowing three people that support my hypothesis. Shush. My sample size is valid.<br /><br />The only positive thing came in the 'icebreaker' exercise. The exercise required you to find a partner, learn about them and tell everyone else who they were, where they came from and one weird fact about them.<br /><br />We struck gold on the first pair.<br /><br />Trainer: Ok, you guys, you go first.<br /><br />Tate: Uh, this is Greg. Greg's from London and the weird thing about Greg is that he has OCD.<br /><br />[Awkward silence as Greg glares at Tate, and then glances around awkwardly whilst unbuttoning and re-buttoning the top button on his shirt. Five times.]<br /><br />I almost explode holding back my laughter. No one else sees the humour in this.<br /><br />Social awkwardness is my favourite spectator sport.<br /><br />The only other good thing was hearing the trainer tell a fully grown man to go out into the corridor and wait for her as she would not stand for people having private conversations in the classroom.<br /><br />So umm. Yeah. This job is probably going to suck. At least i got to watch a video about an Orangutan for my training this afternoon.jiminycrickethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09128935944994988976noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1194740786947100409.post-18558193142135320422008-04-10T21:25:00.008+01:002008-04-10T23:43:00.135+01:00Hmmm..... (A story in three parts)Part One<br /><br />After reading people's comments on various blogs today I've decided I'm sick of fuckwits on the internet that make retarded, inflammatory, pointless comments and think that grammar is the lady their grampa married.<br />Yes my grammar's not perfect, but I don't paint it orange, tie it to a balloon and tape that balloon to a seagull bound for some place where the WHOLE WORLD CAN SEE IT. Like the internet.<br />You will never see my bad grammar, painted orange, tied to a balloon and taped to a seagull bound for the internet.<br /><br />What we need is semi-sentient keyboards that can tell when someone is being a tool and simply melt their fingers.<br /><br />*Meanwhile back in less-angry land*<br /><br />Part Two<br /><br />I got the call centre job. It's for a charity, it's on evenings and Saturdays and I call old people, convince them to give me money, then get their bank details. This is how I spend my spare time anyways, so no big changes there.<br />I also get to wear one of those cyborg headset things, which basically makes this like the best job ever. I wonder how long it takes before people get sick of me yelling "HEY GUYS, GUYS! LOOK! I'M A ROBOT" whilst dancing in a way which resembles the fashion in which a robot would dance. Probably not long.<br />I think I may try to take the job to the next level and turn into my alter ego which is '80's Sales Guy'.<br />80's Sales Guy is just like me, except he has super gelled down hair, wears one of those blue shirts with white cuffs and collar and has suspenders. He shouts things like "You got it!" and does 'gun fingers' heaps.<br />That's how I'll be rollin'.<br /><br />* Fast Forward to a small town called Banality*<br /><br />Part Three<br /><br />I caught the bus home from the interview last night. I sat at the front, on the top level of the double-decker.<br />Somewhere near Liverpool Street station, the bus turned a corner and in front of the bus, four dudes on rollerblades came skating down the road.<br />At the time, I was listening to some Alexisonfire, which was lucky. I mean if I'd had Ace of Base playing through my iPod, then I would have totally thought it was 1993.<br />Mainly because 1993 was rollerblading's equivalent to punk's 1977.<br />And 1993 was Ace of Base's equivalent to rollerblading's 1993.<br /><br />It could be said that 1993 was a good year for both Ace of Base and rollerblading.<br />Conversely, not one single year has been a good year for this guy:<br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCsMr7yfkhPVFZZAUtRil3j8gGOWZMHdH8V3f4EICsFjTyhM5XVapETdXmSnR8iPpAT4Fy1eMX3hnB28j9jmaPUZGDuHRyNYDtZUSiiz4IhzJD8ezlytBFCpY_EzUqj95TuWCN9dYTwok/s1600-h/rollerblading.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCsMr7yfkhPVFZZAUtRil3j8gGOWZMHdH8V3f4EICsFjTyhM5XVapETdXmSnR8iPpAT4Fy1eMX3hnB28j9jmaPUZGDuHRyNYDtZUSiiz4IhzJD8ezlytBFCpY_EzUqj95TuWCN9dYTwok/s320/rollerblading.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5187725474407665474" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;">"What the hell are you meant to be? Surprise Roller Elf? There's no Surprise Roller Elf in the fucking nativity scene. Once again you've ruined Christmas, Dad."</span><br /></div><br /><br />Blegh... It's time I went to bed. The Stupid is stirring inside me.jiminycrickethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09128935944994988976noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1194740786947100409.post-37580761832504809632008-04-08T11:20:00.007+01:002008-04-08T12:27:33.452+01:00A snapshot...<a href="http://blondeasabrunette.blogspot.com/">Non Blondie:</a> You bought more bread! We've got so much bread in the freezer now.<br /><br />Me: Yeah we have heaps of bread and bread related products.<br /><br />NB: We almost have as much stuff in there as the others.*<br /><br />Me: Yeah, but at least our bread is whole, edible bread, not just random gross bits that no one else wants, like a bag full of umm... bread rind or something.<br /><br />[Long pause]<br /><br />Me: Uh, when I said bread rind, I meant crust.<br /><br />NB: Do you always have to do things the hard way?<br /><br /><br />This conversation exists because our flatmates have filled the freezer with the offal and other junk that they eat which includes, but is not limited to chicken feet, chicken heads, chicken liver and some unidentifiable part of a pig which may or may not be genital in nature.<br />That's right- Imagine coming home from work to a bowlful of fried chicken's heads peering up at you, their beaks suspended mid-squawk and their beady little eyes all shriveled and raisin-like in appearance. Then imagine thinking "What smells like a homeless man's warm, urine-soaked pants?", then you spy a pot on the stove and realise it's the source of the smell and then you think "OH MY GOD THEY ARE BOILING A POT OF URINE!", but then you open the pot and realise that instead it contains some weird things and some more chicken parts, then you throw up in your mouth a little before running up the stairs into your room and spraying so much Febreeze into their air that it coats the inside of your lungs and every time you sneeze, crisp, freshly laundered linen flies out your nose.<br />IMAGINE THIS. THIS IS HOW I LIVE.jiminycrickethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09128935944994988976noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1194740786947100409.post-51721728297081342032008-04-04T16:11:00.005+01:002008-04-04T17:58:50.280+01:00Don't push me, cos i'm close to the edge.Just when you thought I couldn't put myself through any more occupation-related pain...<br /><br />I'm going over to the dark side<br />I have organised an job interview for Monday afternoon at a call centre. It's an evening and weekend job that pays decent money and it's not commission based and there's no cold calling.<br />How bad could it be?<br /><br /><br />Don't look at me like that.<br />At least it'll make for good stories.<br /><br />This travel business makes you do crazy things.jiminycrickethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09128935944994988976noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1194740786947100409.post-22928777735813655852008-04-02T23:16:00.006+01:002008-04-03T00:24:06.515+01:00A recap and some other junk...Well, needless to say, my secret meeting with the CEO went well today. Whilst two of my colleagues don't have jobs as of next week, I used my charm and boyish wiles to convince her that I was awesome and that I could <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">single-handedly</span> turn things around.<br />Or something like that. Actually nothing like that. I had to be very honest and admit fault but it seemed to work out alright. There was an unnecessarily large amount of talk of office culture though. I found this funny because this is a workplace overrun with middle-aged women with nothing better to do than talk about when they had a cup of tea once that was so hot that the cup melted a mark into the top of their desk and they had to hide it with paper for a week because they'd only been working there for a little while and were afraid they'd lose their job.<br />Imagine banal conversation like that. All. The. Fucking. Day.<br />Although I lie. These conversations are punctuated with me being told what smart-casual means.<br />"So we all have to come along to this event tomorrow night. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Dress code</span> is smart-casual. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Jiminy</span> that means you should probably wear a collared shirt or something. Maybe jeans, I think that would be <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">ok</span>."<br /><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Ahh</span>...yes. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">Thank you</span> for clarifying smart casual for me. Unfortunately this means I ironed my string vest and camouflage three quarter cargo pants for nothing. Damn.<br /><br />In an effort to boost the morale in the place, they've opted to install umbrellas in the middle of the groups of desks. Like, big fuck off novelty beach umbrellas. No shit. It's ridiculous.<br />These are the kind of people that make every second Friday "Dress As Your Favourite Pet Cat Day" because they think it will be so good for morale, not to mention FUCKING HILARIOUS to see <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">Laneesha</span> from accounts dressed up as little Mr Tinkles. They forget however, that no one else in the office owns a cat, let alone multiple felines from which to pick a favourite. Everyone also knows that you let your cats sleep in your bed and that your just-used vibrator has picked up so much cat-hair from your sheets that it looks like an Alsatian's disembodied tail. Fools.<br /><br />So at the moment, there's a big <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"></span>taffeta umbrella perched gaudily over a desk. A green one, with a parrot on it and fairy lights.<br />The other one is pink with flowers embroidered on it. And tassels.<br />I work near colourful umbrellas and tassels, however I'm not a cocktail waiter at a burlesque club. What has my life come to?<br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVmnyFdKq-CWdLvWPq2Wt5vyzrcFIfcO7mr6X4u_N9zunFSzeBzCKFjtqzE2mFWoDquTudCVLnxkbO23_rBIRwzSv7IMuRs3_tCNlXBOlVEaXpgURwmEB2kfg1hjN3Sg3iuvrAgB98vQE/s1600-h/96_1325,6.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVmnyFdKq-CWdLvWPq2Wt5vyzrcFIfcO7mr6X4u_N9zunFSzeBzCKFjtqzE2mFWoDquTudCVLnxkbO23_rBIRwzSv7IMuRs3_tCNlXBOlVEaXpgURwmEB2kfg1hjN3Sg3iuvrAgB98vQE/s320/96_1325,6.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5184788170669878306" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;">Why don't you just shape some shit into a ball, roll it around in your cat-hair sheets and call it a fucking coconut. Because that's closer to paradise than these stupid umbrellas you're surrounding me with.</span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /></span></div>So being the singular synthesiser of testosterone in a thick swamp of estrogen producing manatees I mockingly declared that I felt left out of the festivities as i didn't have an umbrella above my desk.<br />Bad move <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">Jiminy</span>. Manatees cannot detect sarcasm.<br />Yesterday a package arrived in the post for me.<br />"Open it." My boss says, grinning daftly with her fish-mouth.<br />I sigh and pull away the packaging.<br />It's a wide-brimmed hat with corks dangling off it. It even had a kangaroo printed on the front of it. Because that's what we all do in Australia these days. Seriously, live in the now. Why didn't you just get me a brochure for <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Expo_%2788">EXPO 88</a> or a block of cheese signed by <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Peter_Russell-Clarke">Peter Russell Clarke</a>. Why stop there though? Buy me the box set of Crocodile Dundee videos wrapped in prawns and soaked in Eucalyptus oil. Or save yourself the trouble and just write me a card that says HEY YOU'RE AUSTRALIAN. Cos that's about as funny as your fucking hat.<br /><br />It's like me buying her some severed heads, cos isn't that what the English were into at some stage? Cutting off heads and sticking them to things to ward off their enemies? Or was it burning people? Maybe I could bring her some matches and a some sticks to make a pyre.<br />They wonder why there's such a high staff turn-over? Geez... I dunno guys, it wouldn't have anything to do with the incompetent managers. Maybe it's because there's NOT ENOUGH UMBRELLAS.<br /><br />Anyways, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">I'm</span> getting all worked up. The point of this was to paint a picture of the 'culture' in my office. It may seem to you that it paints a more accurate picture of my current absence of sanity but frankly, I care not. Me and Other Me are very happy with ourselves.<br /><br />Anyways, my office sucks and I'm powerless to change it, unless I magically develop ever-shrinking ovaries overnight and miraculously turn into a bitter, thick-<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">skulled</span> ass hat.<br />Quit, you say? I'd like to but I need the cash as The Girl and I are saving furiously (which I imagine would look like a tiny kid frantically jamming handfuls of bank notes into a piggy bank) for our big Europe/India/South East Asia/Back to Australia trip at the end of June.<br /><br />Looks like I'm in Grit-Your-Teeth-And-Deal-With-It City for three more months. Hooray.<br />Oh well, I hear it's full of <del>umbrellas</del> culture at least.jiminycrickethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09128935944994988976noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1194740786947100409.post-75897811951833178982008-04-02T11:06:00.002+01:002008-04-02T11:19:38.955+01:00Holy shitballs!It's been a damn long while, homies.<br /><br />This is mainly due to the Draconian measures that have been introduced to my workplace.<br />My boss sits beside me and frequently leans over and asks what I'm doing. If, god forbid, I'm taking two minutes out to check my email I get asked why I'm wasting time and not doing ALL THE WORK YOU HAVE, WHY IS THIS?<br /><br />To which i shrug and scream at her in my head....<br /><br />Despite all my rage i am still just a rat in a cage.<br /><br />Anyways, my place of work is about to implode in a maelstrom of menopausal wrath. It's all cloak and dagger, with whispers in the corridor secret meetings and all kinds of junk.<br /><br />I have to leave in five minutes for a secret meeting in a nearby coffee shop. I would not be surprised if there are Gregorian chants involved.<br /><br />I think the meeting could be because the banshee manager overheard a few of us going to town (in the insulting sense, not the sexual one, you bunch of degenerates) on them the other day. And by overheard, I mean sneaked into the hallway and listened. Which is retarded behaviour from people who claim to be more professional than a hat full of doctors.<br /><br />The problems may be that they heard the following terms being bandied about;<br /><br />- Fish mouthed wench<br />- Fish wife<br />- 88 (Referring to the two fat ladies that are our managers.)<br />- Captain Aubergine and the Egg-Shaped Crusader (again, a nasty personal attack which i really should refrain from if I ever intend to kick it with Jeebus)<br />- Incompetent, irritating, thick-skulled, daft, retards.<br />- Cockwits.<br /><br />Apparently this could be classed as subordination or some bullshit.<br /><br />I don't see how.<br /><br />Meeting begins in a couple of mins. I gotta get going.<br /><br />Will give you the details upon return. And i'll post more, k?<br />Is anyone even left around here? Or did you get bored like, three months ago and give up and go to find your gutter humour froma more reputable and intelligent source, like say from a 10 year old?<br /><br />It's ok. I understand.jiminycrickethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09128935944994988976noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1194740786947100409.post-66883632963353799762008-03-19T08:31:00.005+00:002008-03-19T08:42:23.791+00:00Make me laugh. Now.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglBktllcmHFvfT-Fcsm3GOgY3TH9DESDEqYGH5JQIG8uROGBe3bUO6D6i9w4aS_VttAnj-r7xGKpPO0ENzuoEnjuIiMVdduIZbU-Ja3fSjH75yY9Qzys_pooLluRRkqqD-qQ3ZJDSpCA0/s1600-h/mobiledude.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglBktllcmHFvfT-Fcsm3GOgY3TH9DESDEqYGH5JQIG8uROGBe3bUO6D6i9w4aS_VttAnj-r7xGKpPO0ENzuoEnjuIiMVdduIZbU-Ja3fSjH75yY9Qzys_pooLluRRkqqD-qQ3ZJDSpCA0/s320/mobiledude.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5179368742982733682" border="0" /></a><br />I'm so in love with this photo that I've decided to make it into a competition.<br />Leave a caption for it in the comments and after a period of time which is deemed reasonable by the Grand Chancellor (me), a winner shall be selected to have their caption put under the photo and placed in the sidebar here for a period of time which is deemed reasonable by the Grand Chancellor (again, me).<br />Also, if you're a lurker, now's a good time to say hi, because instead of having to write about the rubbish I've written, you just get to write something funny. How easy is that?<br /><br />The prize is that you get to be recognised by your peers as having a superior sense of humour. You also get to be on my blog.<br />What's that you say? Lame prize?<br />I know but this is a tiny baby blog, not the national fucking lottery. What do you want? An iPod or something? Go click some pop-up ads then, ass hat.<br />Fine. If you win, I'll print the captioned picture out, POST IT TO YOU IN THE MAIL and you can stick it on your wall. Happy now? You better be.<br /><br />Quick then, go make with the funnies.jiminycrickethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09128935944994988976noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1194740786947100409.post-9292838537284935062008-03-18T21:25:00.003+00:002008-03-18T22:42:05.530+00:00Speaking of the future...My last post got me thinking about the future and how disappointed people must be with the present. Which coincidentally was the future back then.<br />You see, everyone's lives were built on the hope that one day, they'd be zipping to the space-port diner a la The Jetsons. Granted, there is similarities- Lots of dads these days work part time in factories, but the difference is that their kids don't get looked after by Ruby Robot; they get left in the car with the windows up and occasionally fed by Rosa, the Hispanic alien from next door.<br /><br />End digression...<br /><br />Now here's some edu-ma-cation for all you non-Australians.<br />Back when I was a wee little tacker, there used to be this awesome show on TV called 'Beyond 2000'.<br />To an eight year old boy, the name alone was the most exciting thing ever since that time dad left his special cup too close to the high-chair.<br />The show provided an insight into current developments in science and technology and how they would make the lives of those living in the year 2000 so much more luxurious/simpler/exciting/less baby-vomit-green ridden.<br />So there was concept cars which had magical future things like electric windows, robot co-drivers and digital speedometers.<br />There was calculators that FIT INTO THE PALM OF YOUR HAND and could do all kinds of crazy things like addition.<br />There was laser guided kitchen utensils, jet powered steam irons, anaerobic dust projectors, gaseous plasma heaters and televisions that you didn't have to get up off your orange and green couch to change the channels on.<br />Fucking sweet.<br />To me, a dumb eight year old that once got so excited by a tv show about crocodiles that he jumped on the couch and fell onto the coffee table splitting his head open thusly getting himself rushed to hospital and receiving a fuck-tonne of stitches down his forehead, this show was like grown-ups had stolen all my Lego ideas and turned them into awesome, actual, radical things.<br />If I could have had a wet dream, I would have had one, probably. Instead I think I just wet the bed a few times.<br />Anyways, my head was filled with these wondrous devices and I longed for the years to pass so one day, in the years after the year 2000, I could fly to school with a jet pack and do my homework on this magical computing device which only needed TWO WHOLE ROOMS to operate and maybe even use electrical wiring to talk to people that also had dedicated computing device rooms in their homes.<br />I thought the future held alot.<br /><br />Here I am, almost ten years 'beyond 2000' and I can't even get bullet-points to work properly in Word, I still have to tie my own shoelaces, I can't fucking hover/jet/teleport anywhere and to top it all off, the false prophets that came up with this programme of lies and fraudulent dreams have gone and re-made the TV programme under a new heading.<br /><br />Now fair play, back in '81 they probably thought they were pretty safe with going with the 'Beyond 2000' name. I mean, 20 years or so is a long time in science. Unless your talking about evolutionary biology, in which case 20 years is fuck all. But in the 'science' that this show referred to 20 years was a long time and I can't fault them for expecting some of the things they showcased to have developed into usable technologies come the big 2-0 (0-0).<br /><br />My problem's not with 'Beyond 2000', it is with the producers who decided that rather than risk the embarrassment of hazarding a guess and going with 'Beyond 2020', they decided to go with the title 'Beyond Tomorrow' for the new show.<br /><br />Piss-weak.<br /><br />Beyond 2000 was about things that may come to fruition in the (kind of but not really) distant future. Sure they made some calls that look stupid now, but dammit, in the 80's they put their spandex-clad asses on the line and I respect that.<br /><br />Beyond Tomorrow is a cop out. Going from the title, Beyond Tomorrow could be a show about Thursday. And anyone can guess which technologies will exist on Thursday.<br />"Oh look honey, they're doing a special on electric kettles."<br />Lame.<br /><br />The least they could have done is gone for 'Beyond 3000', at least then we wouldn't be alive to ridicule them when their isotopic fusion hats never come to be mass-produced or when the anti-gravity super car fails to be developed or when they fail to stop global warming using a series of mirrors, some gaffa tape and a bucket of liquid nitrogen.<br /><br />But no, we get Beyond Tomorrow.<br />I predict that beyond tomorrow, I'll be a disillusioned 23 year old who wastes all his time working, complaining about working, writing drivel on a blog and hating on meaningless tv shows.<br /><br />You can call me Nostradamus.jiminycrickethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09128935944994988976noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1194740786947100409.post-31932219362349298052008-03-18T14:21:00.003+00:002008-03-18T14:26:02.479+00:00We're living in the future people!I found this at work in some marketing material from years ago.<br />This guy was a tutor...<br />Nothing says "I'm a man of the future' like a 6 kilogram mobile cellular telephony device.<br />What a cool cat. So cool in fact, that when asked for a promotional photo, he avoids the standards profile shot and opts for this gem.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH8MvQx-AsaYnffpqcHAJ4qyjmHCIv6isIi72bz0uSq2wl2Z6-TsIAW7KNTGibRxqvcP21zbr5AxfseN0ca-b-GW8-mCrEYUYByxv9c_wmkh77V7wNyMmmoiUlwUB9r_aI8K6n91N53iU/s1600-h/mobiletechnology.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH8MvQx-AsaYnffpqcHAJ4qyjmHCIv6isIi72bz0uSq2wl2Z6-TsIAW7KNTGibRxqvcP21zbr5AxfseN0ca-b-GW8-mCrEYUYByxv9c_wmkh77V7wNyMmmoiUlwUB9r_aI8K6n91N53iU/s320/mobiletechnology.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5179087392560074594" border="0" /></a><br />Awesome.<br /><br />Stay tuned for more exciting stuff. I know I've been neglecting this and hopefully soon I'll have the time to give it some more attention.<br /><br />Until then, imagine what a camera phone would have looked like back then.<br /><br /><br /><img src="file:///private/tmp/mobiletechnology-1.jpg" alt="" />jiminycrickethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09128935944994988976noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1194740786947100409.post-80510473027666719882008-03-13T14:35:00.003+00:002008-03-13T15:30:05.219+00:00Reasons I love EdinburghThis morning I decided to not sit in on the things I had organised for work. Instead I decided to do the tourist thing and go for a stroll around Edinburgh. Being daft I decided to do this in t-shirt and thin jumper.<br />Hello, dumb-ass. You're in Edinburgh. Put some fucking clothes on.<br />Needless to say i got cold pretty quickly.<br />I ventured back and got my jacket, laptop and my hat. (Yes, the one the homeless guy was into)<br />All packed up and looking like such a tourist that even some Japanese ladies with visors, big fuck-off cameras and pants-suits pointed at me and yelled 'Stupid tourist!", I set off. Within 15 minutes I had decided that Edinburgh is the awesome.<br /><br />These are the reasons why:<br /><br />- I climbed the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Scott_Monument">Scott Monument</a>. Awesome panoramic views over the harbour, old town, mountains and castle. On my way back down I noticed the best graffiti ever.<br />"Peanut <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">woz</span> ere. 15-7-79"<br />This on the world's largest ever monument created in honour of a writer.<br />Fucking poetic. Nice one Pea.<br /><br />- I swear I've seen <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Highlander_%28film%29">Christopher Lambert</a> waiting for a bus at least 5 times. It's <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">disconcerting</span> to say the least. One guy even grabbed me and said "THERE CAN BE ONLY ONE!... more minute until this bus arrives, I've been waiting for ages."<br />I'm lying again. But seriously, there's heaps of dudes that look like they're an Immortal from Highlander.<br /><br />- Through a completely random series of <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">occurrences</span>, I just snapped myself a photo of the First Minister of Scotland (Which is their version of a Prime Minister) arm in arm with two guys who were protesting against the proposed changes to Scottish immigration law which will mean no more Curry chefs will be allowed to migrate from India. Or something to that effect. Anyways, I somehow found myself out the front of the Scottish Parliament, then I saw these guys with funny hats holding boards with all kinds of wicked slogans like "Save Curry!" The next thing I know I see them all huddled around someone and I think "CAPTAIN CURRY HAS COME TO SAVE THEM"<br />But no, it's the prime minister of fucking Scotland, wearing a little white curry chef's hat hugging all these Indian dudes. I took a photo because it's not every day you see the leader of a nation hugging a guy who's occupation involves giving people diarrhoea.<br /><br />- I found a shop that sells Scottish <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">souvenirs</span> called 'Thistle do nicely'. Best regional-based store-name pun so far.<br /><br />- I saw two dudes walking around in V for Vendetta masks. Which I thought was totally lame and if I had my way, I'd tie them to a stake and put fireworks in their eyes. But, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Jeebus</span> had taken care of things for me. So rather than forcing me to you know, commit murder or something, he just made these dudes such massive nerds that they still had to wear their massive coke-bottle glasses on the outside of the masks!<br />Ha! Way to be a revolutionary, Captain Degenerative Ocular Faculties. I decided his sidekick was called Myopia Man.<br /><br />- I saw the Edinburgh School of English. Which sounds funny and weird to me. Probably sounds weirder to someone who doesn't speak English.<br /><br />- I threw a pebble at a pigeon and hit it.<br /><br />- I saw a tiny orange tractor driving up the steepest hill ever. Seriously, it was the size of a small ride-on lawnmower, but with a fully enclosed cabin and stuff.<br />What, no one else finds this funny? Fuck you. Go see television and tell it you want your imagination back. Also get it to eviscerate Ray Romano or whatever the fuck his name is. God I despise that guy. Also tell it to go drop off a map and a helicopter to the poor bastards on Lost. For fucks sake. Someone sort their shit out for them. How <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">long</span> can you <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">not</span> know where you are for? <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">Tards</span>.<br /><br />Did I just lose COMPLETE TRACK of what I was talking about? The Scottish drunkard reading over my shoulder said "Aye, yer doom <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">foch</span>." Shut up, Christopher Lambert.<br /><br />- There's a massive number of gingers over here. They have hair that's like, blazing red. Which makes me look like a brunette. (I have somewhat auburn hair. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">Shutup</span>.) Finally I feel like I fit in. It's like I'm a monkey that was separated from my monkey crew when I was a monkey baby and made to walk around crashing cymbals together and wearing a fez and now I've finally been reunited with my kin. Although now I don't smell like my monkey brethren, so they all claw and bite my face and throw their stinky monkey shit at me.<br /><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">Umm</span>.. yeah.<br /><br />I'm going to make a proposal for the Scottish tourist board. My slogan is going to be:<br /><br />"Come to Scotland and be reunited with you monkey <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">homies</span> whilst the eyes of a thousand Christopher <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">Lamberts</span> and gingers burn into the back of your skull. Also you can throw things at pigeons and you'll actually hit them."<br /><br />So yeah, that's why I love Edinburgh.<br /><br />Photo evidence to come soon.jiminycrickethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09128935944994988976noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1194740786947100409.post-41647651704349792942008-03-12T22:16:00.004+00:002008-03-12T22:28:28.687+00:00Don't worry, be happySometimes all it takes to make your day is to have a completely insane, muttering Scotsman walk past you, turn around and shout "YOUR HAT! I LIKE YOUR HAT! NICE HAT!!!"<br /><br />Thanks McDude!<br />I'd high-five you but I think you have a needle stuck in your fingerless gloves.<br /><br />Weather Update: Still windy. Still raining. Still cold.<br /><br /><br />Now I think of it- The whole hat compliment doesn't really make my day. It upsets me. Receiving compliments about your fashion sense from a crazy homeless guy is like having Heath Ledger compliment you on your medication management.<br /><br />Too soon?jiminycrickethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09128935944994988976noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1194740786947100409.post-23120408000179254122008-03-11T19:30:00.004+00:002008-03-11T23:47:46.776+00:00AyeStill slacking on the blog front.<br />I'M IN SCOTLAND ALL THIS WEEK DOING SOME WORK THINGS. SCOTLAND IS WET AND COLD. FANCY THAT...<br /><br />Whoa, holy mother of god I'm shouting.<br />I hate when I have a Capsidentâ„¢. I couldn't be bothered going back and deleting all of that.<br /><br />Anyways, I haven't had a chance to do the rounds and check out everyone elses issues/hilarity/stories about how their cat once did a poo that smelt like fried sultanas.<br /><br />So once again, I leave you with no stories and a promise of improvement. Think of me of your amnesic, apologetic veteran uncle. But without the bad touch.jiminycrickethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09128935944994988976noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1194740786947100409.post-76331244747214160792008-03-10T12:07:00.005+00:002008-03-10T13:40:09.263+00:00And just like the prodigal son I've returned...Ya huh bitches.<br />That's a lyric from House of Pain's 1992 hit single 'Jump Around'.<br />"Tryin to play me out like as if my name was Sega" is another lyric from the same song.<br />Halcyon days of rap they were. I mean "...<span style="font-style: italic;">like as if</span> my name was Sega". That's a damn compound similie or something referencing a gaming console!<br />Shit is tight, motherfuckers.<br />Word.<br /><br />Anyways, I'm getting off topic.<br /><br />I've brought the blog back up. (Or if House of Pain were phrasing this, it would go "And just like a motherly bird, I've regurged.")<br />Apologies for any confusion caused by the sudden disappearance. I don't think there's going to be any dramas, so am fairly confident I'm not gonna be fired anytime soon. Hooray.<br />Still though, not a great deal of internet connected free time at the moment, so posts will be kinda sporadic for a little longer.<br /><br />In the meantime, here's an issue I have.<br />I have stupid sausage fingers that don't always press the keys my stupid sausage brain tells them to.<br />As such I'm frequently mistyping things, often with interesting results.<br />For example, the 'c' key is close to the 'v' key, and with me not being particularly well versed in the art of touch typing, 'v' often boldly presents itself where it's not wanted. Kinda like when I put on a beard and a trenchcoat and turn up at the kindergarten, but way less creepy. Or vreepy as it would be.<br />Also, my fingers get ahead of themselves and i end up putting words in the wrong order. For example, 'odrer'. Nice one Cabtaim Dyslexia.... (See what i did there! Wow.)<br />Anyways, this is usually not so much of an issue, but my work dictates that I use the words "Culture and The Arts" quite frequently in my day to day typings.<br />Whilst checking some copy, I found some glaring errors. Here they are demonstrating how a few small typos can make all the difference.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"...the course recently took place at the Centre for Vulture and The Arts."<br /></span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"... possibilty of increased funding for businesses in creative sectors, including Vulture and The RAts."</span><br /><br />I suspect the Vulture and The Rats sector wouldn't be particularly profitable, what with them feeding off rubbish and carcasses. Although that seems to work quite well for the legal sector.<br />Z!ng. See, I do scathing too...<br /><br />Here's a student at the Centure for Vulture and The Arts*<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkcn6tZGPiNzb5bbIs7j1rycOAEFgJybns_POQ-kedNjwy-kQyn_yvnlx9qkXwVwQjiSKlmFm9lQRnCKnbPI_F-Hlv-uE8_Yaftb_B4fONJFuXgO6HPjOolNHBhEDdu0TujtUbqtR86q8/s1600-h/vultureart.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkcn6tZGPiNzb5bbIs7j1rycOAEFgJybns_POQ-kedNjwy-kQyn_yvnlx9qkXwVwQjiSKlmFm9lQRnCKnbPI_F-Hlv-uE8_Yaftb_B4fONJFuXgO6HPjOolNHBhEDdu0TujtUbqtR86q8/s320/vultureart.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5176099474006560594" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;">I call zeez one, "Carrion"<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><br />On that lame-ass note, I leave you for now.<br />"Word to your moms I came to drop bombs"<br />Thanks, House of Pain.<br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><br />* With my mad paint skillz, I would totally get a Scholarship at the Centre for Vulture and The Arts, if I was a vulture.</span><br /></div><br /></div>jiminycrickethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09128935944994988976noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1194740786947100409.post-21527314331644886642008-03-06T18:26:00.002+00:002008-03-06T18:30:11.713+00:00Holy shit you guys!Hey you guys...<br />SHIT!<br /><br />I may have been caught out with this at work by the banshee manager herself... (I was on an intense phone call and didn't realise I'd absent mindedly apple-tabbed to my posting page where i'd half written a scathing assault on her mental faculties)<br /><br />So I'm going to make everything disappear for a couple of days, maybe a week in total... Don't think I've gone for good it's just a safe-measure and if it all pans out ok, I'll bring everything back up in about a week or so, maybe less- If she's onto me, I'm sure I'll find a search for Rage and Biscuits in my stats... Don't search for that just to freak me out, assholes.<br /><br />Cross your fingers for me. Also tell everyone who matters if they ask where I've gone. not that they will, they'll probably be all like "Ha! Dickhead!" Which is fair enough.<br /><br />PS: Handy Tip- If this ever happens to anyone else, set your blog to show zero posts on the home page and then remove your archives page element. Unfindable pages! w00t! Meawhile, everything is safe behind the blank home page. Huzzah for panicked problem solving!!<br /><br />I'm gonna post this and then hide it all, so everyone gets it in their reader and then after that there will be radio silence for about a week.<br />Peace out hombres.<br /><br />Hopefully see you soon.<br /><br />Email me if you have any comments/suggestions/exclamations.jiminycrickethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09128935944994988976noreply@blogger.com4