Pain
How far have you pushed yourself, or been pushed, through the pain barrier? It's something that I hadn't given much thought until I read an article on Edgar Allen Poe today.
For him fear was a more potent pain than physical pain. On some levels he might be right seeing as his mother, stepmother, wife and second wife all died of the same disease tuberculosis. Everything he wrote was a reflection of his inner torment, his longing to understand pain and conquer it, from the Raven to the Tell-tale Heart, Poe was a troubled man. I can't imagine what it's like to suffer from a terminal disease or suffer the loss of all who are dear to you, but I can't imagine it being more unbearable than physical pain.
Have you ever been through unspeakable pain? Of course not, but have you been through pain that you thought you could not endure further, only to be proved wrong? Perhaps. Personally, I've been through 'mild' pain but pain enough to know I could not take it in further doses. Breaking my arm was sore, but not nearly painful as my father's massage cure for shin splints. He'd dig his thumbs deep into my shin, as close to the bone as possible. Then he'd slowly move his thumbs up my shin until he hit my unimaginably painful muscle tissue. Keeping his thumb deeply imbedded in my shin muscle, I would clench my fists as the pain seared up my shins and wail in agony, unable to take any more. Words cannot explain how unbearable that was, until you experience it, you'll never understand.
And then there are the people who have been burned alive in a blazing inferno, those who looked to their arm in a shark attack to find it missing, those who, through unbelievable odds, have had their bodies set upon and taken to new extremes of pain. The worst part is knowing the pain is irreversible, like tripping over and two red-hot pins lodging themselves straight through your eyes.
George Orwell once wrote in his masterpiece Ninteen Eighty-Four "in the face of pain there are no heroes." This was in relation to Winston Smith, his heretic, who was tortured for months and broken down completely, a ruin of a man. He was right- in the face of pain, there is nothing you wouldn't do to stop it. To this day torture is still exercised in far-eastern countries, used to extract secrets from prisoners who know that no fate is worse than not giving up their secrets.
Dying is a handy get-out clause in some cases, and preferable to living. If you're dying of a disease that makes every living moment agony and ruins the enjoyment of the life process then perhaps it is better to commit suicide or assisted suicide, euthanasia. Some people live on the verge- limbless, blind or with second degree burns, they continue to live life as fully as they can. These people are the real heroes, living through more pain daily that we're likely to ever experience in our lifetimes.
There was a story in the news about a young Israli kid who was the victim of a horrific bombing orchestrated by the US military. The bomb hit his family home taking with it his mother, father, brothers, sisters and grandparents. In the end there were at least eleven mortalities, the young boy being the only survivor. However, narrowly escaping with his life the boy lost his arms and his legs in the blast and suffered third degree burns all over his body. As the paparazzi swarmed round his bed, he wept. I can't think of a worse way to live.
Last night on Ripley's Believe It Or Not 3 a man told his story of his never-ending battle to overcome the grief of losing his wife. He retold how he embalmed the body, how he made a tomb for her and how he visits her every waking moment of every day. This man has integrated his sorryful and pain-ridden life with what he should be living normally, and lives with the pain of losing his wife each and every day. Such a state of mind I can't even begin to imagine.
As minor as my pain was as a lay there on my father's massage couch, it's relateable to the pain billions before me have suffered worse. It's a flaw that the human system will never be forgiven for, yet keeps our race alive. Without pain, we'd all be lepers. Do you see?
A Small Attendance
Last night the infamous Sleeze Mo and Poulet Tete were round at my house to kill some holiday free time, that which we've been laden with and will be for a further month and a half (bliss).
One thing you should know about this duo- one is a regular drinker, where the other is simply a heavy drinker. It's a known fact that Morna's body always has a 'base level' of alcohol in it at all times, and she just needs to top this up every couple of days to get drunk at a fraction of the price. She's been/will have been drinking friday, saturday, sunday, tuesday, tonight, tomorrow and friday this week alone, and no doubt will continue this testing routine well into her first semester of Uni. "There's not too much alcohol in my blood system" Morna would likely quip, "there's too much blood in my alcohol system!"
At the opposite side of the drinking scale, we have Tete- who always starts drinking with an alcohol-free system. Being the resourceful fellow he is Tete brought with him some wine-like drink, whiskey, irn-bru and several alcopoofs. Not one to be left out, I hit the beers hard and fast before the traditional drinking games began.
Is everyone familiar with a card game called "Sevens"? It's a game for three or more people but Tete and myself, in our infinite wisdom, decided to try a spot of two-player sevens. Simple rules- you chap, you take a shot. Sounds like a plan, we thought, and we set about trying to corner the other into an unavoidable bout of chapping. After making Tete chap about six times in a row (to my indescribable amusement), I had just the one card left. "Haha!" I thought, "six for Tete, none for me!" But that's when the inescapable mathematical reality struck me like a thunder clap. Tete's holding six cards in his hand... and I'm holding one. Deducing that the only card he was missing was the one in my hand, I slumped in my chair and prepared to face the music. Omitting the card I needed him to place until the very last turn, I braved the same six shots that Tete had earlier vanquished until he won the game, me still holding my useless final card in my idiotic fingers. Morna entered the next game, relieving myself and Tete of another "I make you take one shot, you make me take one shot" tour-d'-idiocy.
In a complete stroke of luck, Morna had to leave during one of our later games to relieve her woman's bladder. In Morna's absence we exchanged our bad cards for her good cards, leaving her with a fistful of kings, aces, and face cards. Oblivious, Morna noted "I've got such a crap hand!" and I replied sarcastically "it can't be worse than mine!" trying my utmost to conceal my sniggering lips. Luckily for Morna it was only one shot per three chaps, but she still ended up five shots worse for wear. Taking a much need reliever, a lengthy game of truth or shot followed with pizzas.
Needless to say, I'm not repeating anything said within the confines of those six walls. Suffice to say, only one person opted for the shot and even then it was only called for one question. If curious, ask Morna what that question was. My lips are sealed.
Golf
If there's one sport I can't stand, it's golf. Not because it's the most boring game yet conceived (but believe me, it is), but because of the pomposity, the ridiculous hierarchy and ego of the sport. I mean, come on- what 'sport' is dominated by overweight, unfit idiots like Montgomery, Faldo and the rest of the Golf Club Bender Parade? The lazy bastards don't even walk the course- they buy laughable little buggies to shift their unsightly asses round the park, and they get someone else to carry their clubs for them.
Golf isn't even a sport- it's entertainment for unfit company executives who want to fill the void between work and home without getting their shoes dirty. Even then, however, all this could be excused were it not for Golf's incredible sense of self-importance and self-worth.
"Brghuu" you'll hear, the mating call of the pompous Golfing stereotype clearing his throat before "teeing off" (jerking off). He'll have just finished work, and will have met with similarly guffy company execs to play a round before going home to the wife and kids. Typically he'll be wearing a chequered blouse, tie and similarly chequered trousers complying with the strict "no ruffians" dress code the Golfing confederation insists on. Before playing the round however they'll stop by the Club House- the epicenter of Guffawing and mindless stock-exchange bragging- and 'sink a pint'. Always conductive to true sporting excellence that is, getting buckled before even starting. But the Golfclub Benders won't be drinking any old pint, "fine ale!" he'll call sternly as the stiff-upper-lipped Bartender sticks a glass under the tap and and replies "certainly, good sir." More civilised conversation will continue until one will comment on the time and they'll set off for their game.
Meeting a couple of juniors on the putting green, one will clasp his walking stick and cry "you had better leave this instant, lest my cane finds your backside!" Regulations state that juniors are treated exactly like that- little kids. Ask any Golfclub Bender and they'll tell you the same, "no junior may putt before a round" they'll tell you with eloquence and obvious revision. Add to that "no junior may invite a friend" (reserved for adults only), and "no junior can play in senior competition" (unlike any other sport) and you have the strictest and most unreasonable sporting hierarchy devised. If you're a junior you have to kiss the senior's asses and only speak when spoken to, and you have to tread carefully and avoid conversation that could be considered adult (like politics). You have to sit silently and always give way to seniors, and you have to be polite and offer to shine their shoes at every available moment.
Starting their round, the oldest member will turn to the rest and tempt "what say we make this interesting? A little wager, perchance?" The rest will instantly dig into their pockets and produce their Platinum cards. "One grand" he'll add, and they'll all nod. Their caddies will gesture secretively which club is a "dead cert" for the hole, and they'll all be sure to use the incomprehensible Golf Club lingo at every opportunity. "Birdie for par" one will say, showing that his annual fees are not going to waste. "Three eagles and a ha'penny to make the cut" another will affirm, going one up on his rival.
After a long game the 'Benders will head for the "19th hole" and all laugh at this tired and overused joke. For you see the "19th hole" is back at the Club House, where they are sure to drink heavily and settle their debts to the victor. Passing a few kids with footballs they'll frown and one will say "so uncivilised. Such barbarian instincts, I'm positively sure this is why the Soho convention was moved to Atlanta Georgia" and the rest will titter worriedly. They'll try not to look, and promise themselves that they'll never let their sons debase themselves to such a pitiful level of physical exercise (girls aren't allowed to play Golf). "Probably end up working with their hands some day" one will finish, and much tutting and shaking of heads will ensue as one kid in the distance says "I jamp."
Elsewhere the juniors will be in the junior room keeping themselves far away from the bar. The adults call this room "the playroom", despite the juniors inside being 18 years old. One will inquire why he can't go into the bar, and the greenkeeper will snap "juniors are only allowed in the junior room! Rule 2,657 A, article 23, paragraph 12." He knows this, but wonders why the sport can't modernise.
As do I.
Babecast
Well it was only a matter of time wasn't it? After the phenomenal success of Games Network's critically acclaimed Babestation, it was only a matter of time before other channels decided to cash in on the idea and it claim it for themselves.
Tonight I witnessed first-hand the clearly ripped-off version of Babestation, Babecast, by Friendly Tv (channel 268). The similarities are so numerous that it's far easier to compare the differences, and I can tell you- there are few. In the most obvious and un-sly move I've ever seen, Babecast places the three babes on the left hand side of the screen instead of Babestation's right hand side. Woah, looks like I was wrong- originality isn't dead! This is exactly what I was ranting about in the "Whatever Happened To...?" article- someone comes up with something new, and everyone else carbon copies it.
What's even worse is that Babecast doesn't make the remotest attempt to be different either. Essex Mink #1 on the phone, Essex Mink #2 on the phone, and, you guessed it, Essex Mink #3 on the phone. This leaves the unqualified and actually quite dull Essex Mink #4 to entice the viewers by offering rewards for texts (because texts means money, or less beatings from the pimp behind the camera). "Owight, three moire texts and I'll show me left nipple!" Essex Mink #4 'seduces', rubbing her Tesco Value bra violently, looking nervously at the camera man. Shortly afterwards tens of randy pubesant nerds text in with the most moronic texts imaginable. "NIPz OUT 4DA LADZ" is precisely what you'd expect to read with their boorish language and sexist remarks. Reluctantly the ho will show her left nipple, and promises to take her pants off in the next half hour if the pimp's happy with the number of text sent in.
Fair enough Babestation isn't much better- but it's still better, no matter how small the margin is. Due to Friendly Tv's shameful rip-off there isn't much to separate the two, despite Babestation being the clear innovator and original. At least with Babestation the hostess' are slightly attractive, and make an attempt to chat to each other and make viewing less painful. They'll even dress up and have themed nights (so I've heard) and go to admirable lengths to attain bananas, stilettos, whips and a whole host of props to make a night of it.
You could argue that Babestation is nothing but a webcam pointed at four women, which has been circling the internet for years, and is therefore not an original concept. Well perhaps, but then again it is aired on Games Network (channel 223)- so if anyone has the rights to pointing a webcam at something, it should be a computer channel. I know that Babestation and Babecast are made by the same company, but shame on Friendly Tv- why can't they at least try to put a new spin on the idea instead of such an obvious forgery. "But Star" you cry, "isn't a wider selection better?" Yes, but I feel sorry for Games Network- Babestation is their brainchild, let them have it.
Let it be the haven of sex starved geeks. Let them have their moment- let Games Network make their money. I'm sick of everything being the same, let's see some reward for innovating, let's see a return on GN's investment. "More porn can only be a good thing", Tom would argue. Well, what would happen if Babestation went bust and Babecast took in all the money? Eh? What would happen then? And then where you be, Tom?
You sicken me.
A Group Discussion
As the streets would say, "has it come to this?" And I'd reply: "yes." Material is the be-all and end-all of blogs. Sure, you could just write an online diary and bore your readership stupidly daily, but I wouldn't do that to anyone. No one's life is interesting enough to write about it every day, mine especially. So, to whittle away the few subjects I have left to write about, it's time to make things personal and examine each and every one of you. If you don't like it, go here.
Tom:
A punk-rocker through and through, Tom lives his life by the punk-rock ethos: Not giving a damn. Once I told him his stickers were cheap and nasty, to which he replied "that's punk-rock for ya!" Tom always has number 1 in mind, and despite being a social chameleon, doesn't work at creating friendships. Ideally suited to meeting in a bar, being a banterous fellow, Tom lets people come to him. Forgetting that friendship is a compromise, Tom doesn't have any of the qualities that make a solid friendship like loyalty, reliability or trust. As has been said- the perfect guy to meet on a night out, but impossible to form a boundless relationship with. A highly proficient drummer and musician, Tom will succeed if the right opportunities open for himself and his band. I've been overly harsh to Tom in the past, but that's due to my nature and not his fault- I'm too critical of people for my own good. Everyone else loves Tom, so it's obviously just me that has a problem with his unreliability. To reiterate a point- A very sound person to be in the company of, and always likely to put a smile on your face at a party.
Tete:
Tete is diametrically opposite to Tom in that he makes great efforts to be a good friend, but isn't as instantly likeable to strangers. Tete is always the first to suggest meeting up, he actively makes efforts to meet up or have people round and is a really nice guy in general. If anything Tete has been haunted by people taking a dislike to him in his early life (up to third year), but with University only two months away it will allow Tete to break off the shackles of history and start over. Always game for a laugh or a drink, Tete stands out as the most misunderstood member of our clique. Branded "sleazy" by people who don't know when to end a joke, Tete makes efforts beyond what he should to socialise despite people not giving him a chance. Tete has faced an uphill struggle to be accepted, but I feel the past year has been the best of his life. Tete will become quite rich, not surpassing his father in wealth but he will succeed in life and become irresistible to women in his twenties. Just you wait and see.
Dabby:
Without question the funniest person in our group, Dabby is midway between Tom and Tete. Not desperate to be accepted or understood, Dabby is usually the leader of our group with good reason. Reliablity and loyalty are virtues that are prominent with Dabby, and it's often left to him to organise things within the group. This is partly because everyone likes Dabby, and where he goes, the party follows. Dabby is intellectual and unlike a lot of people, he's observant about what is actually happening (the qualities of a good psychologist). As everyone knows, Dabby is often insightful and can read between the lines in almost any situation. Dabby works harder than anyone else in our group to get everyone together, but will refuse to do anything he doesn't want to. This may be classed as "stubbornness", depending on your viewpoint. Doesn't try too hard to be accepted, Dabby isn't the most accessible person in our group (that accolade falls to Tom) but certainly is one of the most likeable, holding decorum when necessary -for example he'll speak to a certain midget when he's seen, but hates him passionately inside. Ask anyone and they'll tell you the same- Dabby is the best person to talk to in our group, being insightful and interesting. His writing style will make sure he succeeds in the fast-paced journalist industry, and if anyone can keep to guidelines and restrictions, it's Dabby.
Wee Yann:
Not really part of our group anymore.
Lauren:
Perhaps the mother figure of the group, Lauren possesses a lot of the same qualities that Dabby does. I'd have placed her as a popular on looks alone, but Lauren doesn't have the flaws some of them do- She's not superficial, self-obsessed or catty but highly likeable and one of the nicest people I know. Lauren proves how different sisters can be, being kind and considerate and as far away from her NED sister as is possible. Lauren is very understanding and a great person to talk to for she'll speak her mind and is quite a funny person actually. I can't think if anything bad to say about Lauren, and I don't think many other people would either. Unlike a lot of people in this group (including me), Lauren hasn't made any enemies. That speaks a lot for her nature, because there's nothing to dislike about her. In future if she doesn't succeed she'll sleep her way to the top (she told me this herself!), which I admire.
Sharon:
At one time the nerdiest member of our group spending an unfathomable six hours on AUBL per day, Sharon has since calmed down and claims to not even go on them anymore. Dedication is a quality that people overlook when they see Sharon, the sheer volumes of posts on her anitned blog, teenage diary and even AUBL itself being ample proof of this. Sharon has befriended many NEDs in Aberdeen, but still has time to see us now and again. I don't know Sharon very well to be fair, but I like her personality a lot and Sharon, along with Tete, seems quite misunderstood. Has a strange relationship with her brother Graeme, where she has seen his testicles several times, Sharon does possess all the qualities of a good friend. I'm not sure where she'll be ten years down the line but if all else fails, there's always the job of AUBL forum moderator to fall back on.
Morna:
Despite being integral to several groups, Morna is a prominent figure in our group nevertheless. Morna's personality shines through- considerate, caring, friendly, reliable, in fact, everything positive you could list from a friend. Morna always has time for you and it's no wonder everyone seems to confide in her- there's no one else you could trust your secrets with more than Morna. Despite Snail having some personal vendetta against her, Morna doesn't lower herself to bitch about him or even talk about him when he's not there (which Snail does every single day). It's not in her nature. Branded "sleeze Mo", there is no substance to this whatsoever- it's an oxymoron, Morna couldn't be further from being a sleaze. She's highly personalised and there's no one in our group quite like her. She has a refreshing outlook on life and is full of vibrancy, liveliness and happiness. Morna will go far in future and make lots of friends, of that I am sure.
Kayleigh:
The most sexually active of our group, I confess to knowing little about her. Kayleigh is funny and a good person to talk to, and very individualised. As far from being a prude as is possible, Kayleigh would often turn the Wee Issue website into a farce by writing about the best ways to give him head. Her honestly is refreshing and amusing making Kayleigh a fun person to talk to. Missed half of the school year skiving, she always managed to single-handedly enrage all of the people in power at that school with her lax attitude towards work. No idea how she'll fare in future, but one things for certain- if her future relies on her grades this year, she's fucked. Going to college at the end of sixth year is never ideal.
Amy and Louise:
I'll put these two together because I just know there's a side of them I've never encountered. I've only seen the outgoing, fun, active side of them at gatherings and they're fun people to be with. Molly's attitude is what makes me laugh, she always pretends to be hard done by but will then give a cheeky smile and say "what?!" Has been in a relationship with Mr Foogz for ages now, Molly is probably quite a complex person but no doubt keeps a lot of her personality locked up. Both have a dislike for Tete, for reasons that elude me, but Molly's the only one that tries to hit him at every gathering. Odd. Amy is a totally sound person, and has recently passed her driving test (despite mounting kerbs almost every time I've been in the car!) They have both had a few gatherings (unlike some!), but aren't as active socially as the rest of us. Both into punk-rock in a big way, despite it being a steaming pile of shite.
Isla:
Part Hattoner, part Punk, Isla was sexually repressed for years until meeting a certain Richard Matthews. Breaking the in-bred country stereotype, Isla is open about her sex life and actually handed round her dildo at her last party (ahem). Isla is a very funny person, and has a wealth of mannerisms that are both amusing and strange at the same time. She has no boundaries of taste at times, like Tom, and will often complain at not having sex for a few days. In fact the day after she'd lost her virginity she came into school beaming, telling anyone who would listen about her night of passion. I thought she was the reserved sort until I got to know her, and then my opinion changed completely and I thought it should be her called "sleeze Isla, the brothel ho" and not the actually repressed prude Morna. Wrote off her passion wagon the other month, but daddy and mummy should be able to buy her a brand new banger before long. Rich, and dying for sex- that's Isla.
Graeme:
Brother to Sharon, Graeme has a disturbing penchant for full frontal male nudity. Despite having a girlfriend (Lauren, Sharon's best friend) Graeme leads the way in exposing himself at every gathering. Graeme is also a very funny guy, and hopes to join the police before long. Quite a bizarre person when you get to know him, Graeme is nevertheless a sound guy and great at parties. If you're into that sort of thing, that is.
And there it is, a brief roundup of the prominent figures in my group. Maybe you didn't learn anything, but it will be a reference point in future if people want to know a little bit about our group. If anything everyone is quite different, but that makes group events more fun. And what about me? Well, if you've been reading this blog, you should know quite a lot about me by now. And if you haven't, then get reading! Or ask a friend. Either way suits me fine, so long as that friend isn't drunk. Never know what could come out.
+ Today's blog is over 2,000 words long. Don't say I'm not good to you!
Desperate Times
Despite my ego-boosting Google ranking, I've come to the conclusion that not enough people are reading this site. For this reason I'm going to put up an old counter of mine to track if anyone actually reads this. If not, as I suspect, then I'll have to add a guest column or a permanent sidekick (if such a thing exists). Fret not frail, gentle, emotion-weakened sap- Starsite will not fold, not so long as I'm in charge. No siree, Starsite is here to stay. Readership or no readership.
Google Listed!
Type "starsite" into Google and this lowly site finishes 5th on the list!
But, type "starsite ellon" and low and behold, this site comes up number one! Numero Uno!
I'm so happy, I feel a song coming on...
Whatever Happened To...
Limp Bizkit?
Once the most popular rock group during the early 00s amongst teenage girls, Limp Bizkit soon disappeared into obscurity once it became uncool to listen to them. Bands like Staind, Crazy Town and Linkin Park all took over from Bizkits stranglehold on a growing market, and each suffered the same fate as Bizkit in becoming uncool to listen to in a short time. Staind in particular fizzled out and suffered a very short shelf life, whereas Bizkit held out for at least a couple of albums before their rebellious fanbase turned against the hand that fed them and moved elsewhere for their oestrogen-fuelled rockin'. To this day frontman Fred Durst is still loitering around the music scene working in the background, but like Vanilla Ice- he ain't coming back.
The Crystal Maze?
Essential viewing for early-rising kids the Crystal Maze along with Gamesmaster, The Magic Schoolbus, Barny (the dog) and a plethora of others vanished from our screens unexpectedly. To this day you can still see re-runs of the ingenious Crystal Maze on Challenge TV, but the rest of my childhood favourites appear to be lost indefinitely. However for those of you who remember Gladiators you will also find this on Challenge Tvs retro schedule- a haven for nostalgic adolescents. The Crystal Maze, with the superb slap-headed Host Dominic Diamond, is one of the great tragedies to occur in TV history. Today’s technology could still resurrect this classic with its fast-paced puzzle-based simplicity; I wait impatiently for the rights to be snapped up. Others like Trap Door, Super Ted, Fireman Sam and Button Moon symbolise exactly why nostalgia is a deceiving beast because looking at them these days (unlike the Crystal Maze), these were actually quite crap, however much I loved them as a youngster. Take a look at Danger Mouse on Cartoon Network and you'll see what I mean. Great in their day, but pale in comparason to the Simpsons, South Park, Futurama et al.
Penny Sweets?
I remember the days where I'd return from playing two hours of football after school, sweating and covered in mud, taking a quick detour into the local Mace to spend my last 20p of the days lunch money on penny sweets. It's always been a lasting memory of me pressing my face against the glass, pointing grubby finger at row after row of penny sweets as the counter staff would circumnavigate box after box picking up sweets in doubles and placing them in a white bag for me. I'd spend as much as a couple of minutes deliberating and selecting the next sweet to adorn the characteristic white bag, choosing carefully and always imagining the best suitor to the previous sweet. For as little as 10p you were offered choice- something that isn't always given to a seven year old. It was more than just buying food, it was a ritualistic event that was fun to do and even more fun to eat afterwards. But, with todays need for speed and efficiency, less and less outlets are willing to spend the time serving kids looking for a mere 10p mix. My local Mace is one of them. To this day you can still buy the 600-sweet boxes at Makro, but it just isn't the same. Eating 600 of the same sweet defies the point of a mix, and encourages mass suger intaking unlike the rationed 20p daily intake I'd have each day.
Chappy, MacIntyre, and Fraser Skeene?
Alas, into every generation NEDs are born. If you've ever had the pleasure of reading the yearbook issued when we were in first year you'll uncover a whole world of people you'd forgotten about. These people left school shortly after their standard grades (try to think back to your standard grade exams- it's a long time) to become joiners, mechanics, refuse collectors and other valued members of society that work with their hands. For some parts these lives were unavoidable, like Adam Graham, but for others, like Jack Chapman, a lack of ambition and effort have made them turn to the underside of humanity. Sadly, their best years are behind them now. Where the rest of their year will be moving onto college or university and then a respectable life, they'll be slumming it on the dole for the rest of their lives. Where they were figures of authority at school, they'll enjoy their next years in and out of fights at Fandhongos and then wake up to the harsh reality of parentless lives and work long and hard hours for minimum wage. Ten years down the line they'll wish they'd worked at school and probably brand themselves idiotic, and freely admit that they made wrong decisions. But for just now they're living the high life, earning ÂŁ60 per week apprenticeship money and driving their bangers round a loop in the center of Ellon with "kickin' beets" on. It was nice knowing you, fellas.
Childhood Innocence?
I grew up.
Originality?
Company executives don't like originality- it costs money, and there’s no guarantee their work will pay off. That's why we are inundated with sequel after sequel of our favourite movies and games, and remix after remix of songs that were originally good but tainted after their uncountable face lifts. Almost all products these days are a newer version of an existing model, or an existing model with a clock stuck on it. The need to innovate is dying- we have all our 'basic' requirements and improvements these days are more about making something more comfortable, efficient or appealable than competitors. What have you seen lately that's been truly groundbreaking, something that's made you think "wow, I'd never have thought of that!"? I certainly haven't seen it, despite my numerous visits to the gadget shop. But is this a bad thing? Not necessarily, it just means were are getting closer and closer to perfection (which is what everything tends to, afterall). Witness the disappearance of all the things named above- they've all given way to "newer" products (but admittedly better). Limp Bizkit fell to newer bands, the Crystal Maze moved aside for Who Wants To Be A Millionnaire, Penny Sweets gave way to chocolate bars, the NEDs gave way to a new generation of apprentice NEDs (you'll see them as this years third year drop outs), and Childhood Innoscence gave way to sex. And this blog, as if you didn't know, was born from the ashes of other, mightier blogs. Kinda, makes you think, doesn't it?
More "Whatever Happened To...?" in future :-)
Simpson Moments
Day to day I'm haunted with paralleling my life with that of the fictitious cartoon lives of a family of five Americans- the Simpsons. At first I dismissed this as a passing fad, blaming my revising with the Simpsons on in the background being the cause of my disability to let go of this fascination. But to this day, months on from exam hell, I still wake up in a cold sweat and remember the time Lisa woke up at almost the same hour for no reason whatsoever.
At first it was amusing, dare I say it, a little enjoyable. But now it's just distressing. I've become obsessive to the point I feel I'm living in the shoes of Homer, Marge, Bart, Lisa and Maggie and not my own. I'll walk down the street and see a skater and think "ha remember the time..." and blissfully daydream about the time Bart showed up his sister by skating around her when she was trying to be cool.
I feel like the Simpsons are blending their memories with mine to the point where I can't distinguish whether my memories are really mine or the bastard offspring of Matt Groening. Just the other day I was watching tv and I warmly remembered the time my father told me he'd "never scrimp on the appliance that's going to bring up my son." Disturbingly, later that day I watched in horror as Homer set about to buy sky television reasoning that he won't cut corners when it comes to the appliance that's going to bring up his kids. To me, Homer has become a father figure.
Sometimes I don't even need a stimulus to trigger a Simpsons memory. Spontaneously I'll suddenly remember something that made me chuckle, like these sketches:
Marge: "The doctor says you could have lost a third of your brainpower" [after being in a coma]
Homer: [sarcastically] "Me lose brain? Oh oh!"
[The whole family burst out laughing including Homer. Then when the laughter dies down]
Homer: "Why I laugh."
Ralph: "Will you give me some answers to the test please?"
Lisa: "No Ralph, that would defeat the purpose of it being a test."
Ralph: "..."
Ralph: "My cat's name is Mittens."
[Ralph and Bart are caught in Chief Wiggum's banned cupboard with all his police gear]
Wiggum: "I don't understand it, what's so appealing about opening my forbidden cupboard of mystery?"
[It's found out that Jebodiah Springfield was in fact a disreputable pirate on whacking day]
Market Researcher: "Well! That's hardly the sort of image we want for Long John Silvers!"
It doesn't help when I'm say sitting at the table and a sketch will run through my head and I'll laugh out loud. Trying to explain these sketches are futile- you have to see simpson moments to appreciate them. Some humour doesn't translate well to text, so that's why my family are so worried fom me when I vainly to explain why one of the above sketches are so funny, albeit it's the irrelevance of the the sketch that probably puzzles them. These days I'll just tell you if you don't understand it, I'm not going to explain.
Then there are the days when everyone comes across as being like a simpson. I remember looking at the Doc and wondering if he'd ever ask us to assemble at the Butthead Memorial Hall ("I wish we hadn't let the students name that one!" he'd exclaim, shaking his head). I'd look at snail and picture him selling Duff to Beefy, who'd then belch in that characteristic way that singles Barny out. Some days I'll even look at myself and perhaps mouth a simpson catchprase to the mirror, trying to capture what it is that warms their character to me so.
Springfield isn't wildly different to Ellon either. Walking into the Tolbooth I'll think of Moes and look for the similarities. There are few admittedly, but my overactive imagination soon sorts that out. Even the hospital in Aberdeen isn't completely dissimilar, and I look at Newburgh as a real-life Shelbyville. On some days, my own front lawn looks like that recognisable Simpsons front lawn. All I'd need to do was rearrange some things in my room and you'd swear you were on a Comedy Central microfiche.
I really need to get out more.
Classified Information
I feel like saying something witty and profound today, something that will stick in your mind for years to come and when you hear the word "Star" what I am about to say will come to the front of your mind. I'm going to tell you something that you always knew but never thought about; something that your subconscious has been hiding from you for a very, very long time. What I am about to say, and listen carefully for I will only say this once, may well indeed change your life.
Change your life so drastically that you may not be able to eat or sleep, for its shocking revelation will surely challenge all your conventions and complete belief system. If you are religious, turn away now. What I am about to reveal may well tip you over the edge and your world will collapse unless you are completely ready to be enlightened.
If you are of an unstable disposition I implore you- read no further. What I'm about to say could well push you over the edge, and I don't want to have that on my conscience. I want you, my faithful reader, to feel like you have learned something valuable and important today. I don't want my blog to become a house of lies- I want to teach you, I want to put you on the path to enlightenment.
For what I am about to say is not open information- This knowledge I will unveil is not given out lightly, but I trust you. I know you will not use this information for commercial gain- I want you to further your own development, I want you to become my starseed. You have been born to a chaotic world, a world of impatience and intolerance- But I will open the door, I will set your mind free. It's not anybody that gets to learn what I will tell you, for you have been chosen, you have been selected to lead the rest! You will be a leader among men- you will be respected, and held in reverence. You will unite with other holders of this information and become One.
Why do you think so many lives are in distress? Why do you think Africa is in debt to the west? These are the questions that have plagued mankind of late, but I hold the key, and soon you will too. Soon you will be almighty and omnipotent- you will be invisible to change, flawless- perfect. Indeed, you have already set course for complete enlightenment and now, it is time. It is time the veil crashed down before your eyes, and you saw for yourself. Open your eyes- for you will soon be able to see.
What this entire blog has just shown you- now steady yourself- is that curiosity is inescapable. Always remember this valuable lesson, and you will go far.
MSN 6.0
In a conversation last night Dabby reliably informed me of an update that MSN have been pestering me for months to download- the inaugural MSN 6.0.
For months I've stuck firmly with my trusty MSN 4.0, a no-messin' version of MSN lacking in adverts, fancy-shmancy graphics or little extras that I can do without. Because, as is being shown with Microsoft Word, there are very few new features that MSN can add that aren't useless gimmicks or gasp!! Updated graphics!
MSN 4.0 does what I want it to do- it lets me talk to people, and block people. That's all I need a chat program to do, I don't need it to tell me next weeks weather or who's up for eviction in the big brother household. If I want "local" news, I'll go out and buy a paper. If I want to chat to people online, I'll use MSN.
Yet Microsoft seem to confuse this matter. The same way I bought a Gamecube to play games (and not the 'all-in-one' PS2 with a DVD drive, which I already have) I downloaded MSN messenger to chat to people, not to be annoyed every two minutes to find out the latest offers from amazon.com. For this reason I've stuck with the version I know works and doesn't piss me around- until now, that is.
Taking Dabby's advice and Lauren's seal of approval, I ventured into the unknown and hit the "download latest version of MSN!" button. Two hours later, thanks to an unbearably old and crap modem, the wonderful interactive portal of MSN 6.0 was mine to own for free (I make a point of not paying for anything online). Sure, I knew the look would have changed to show "hey guys, it's an all new MSN!" and that the log-in logo of two people would now have leapt into three-dimensions, because 2D logos are so old-hat these days. And yes, before I'd even downloaded it I could foretell that I'd get an annoying pop-up telling me all about the wonderful world of msn.com- but some sacrifices have to be made, even though the sight of this pop-up had my blood curdling in the most severe fashion imaginable.
Overlooking these almost unforgivable flaws I headed straight for the only feature I downloaded it for- the pictures! You can now, by the wonder of modern technology, put your own picture in the chat box! And, if that wasn't enough to make you pull your trousers down and beat off over, you can change the background of your chat window too! Amazing, isn't it? What will they think of next!
I talk sarcastically, but seriously this is quite a fun little extra. Perhaps not worth it considering all the ads you have to put up with, and let's face it the novelty's going to wear off soon- but it'll be fun for a couple of weeks. Then after that everyone will get bored of changing their picture and just stick with one that you've seen every night for 6 months, and then you'll just be left with the annoying ads... but when that day comes, good old MSN 4.0 will emerge from the depths of internet obscurity to come home.
But for just now I've wheeled out a couple of pics I made last year for my MSN picturefest. The first, quite self-explanatory really, is a logo saying "STAR" on it. You'll notice the lens flair that forms a circle round the name, and the star-like light in the top left hand corner.
The second logo is slightly less obvious. For a dreamcast game called "Jet Set Radio" (of 'coolest music in a game ever' fame) you used to go round streets spraying graffiti on walls in the most fantastically accomplished game I've ever played. The genius of this was that you could go online and either download new graffiti, or you could upload your own graffiti from a website. So I created a logo for my skater "Gumsneex" and had hours of fun covering the cities with my own custom-made logo.
From what I've seen Kayleigh's picture and Lauren's picture show male models, Leesh's picture shows himself (older than I'd imagined actually), Amy's picture shows an anime girl and everyone else uses the default, boring pre-created pictures that have no relevance to anything. A rubber duck, anyone? Thought not.
A useless gimmick? Almost certainly, but more fun that having both your arms hacked off in a freak canoeing accident. You think about that.
The Tattie Boguls
The tattie boguls struck again last night on unwitting victim Martin J.
Originally a group of 9 of us were meant to carry out this capade, but Morna- being the hypochondriac that she is- decided upon hearing of a potential 2-mile walk that her foot suddenly began to hurt. Now if Morna's gammy foot starts to flare up again, then Riach also must stay behind... just for good measure. And if Riach has to stay, then womaniser Drew can't go because, well, it's a 2-mile trek and it's cold. Oh, and did I say that if Morna's foot is suddenly sore then Dabby can't join the capade because Morna's foot is sore? Well he decided to stay back also, "just in case."
This left dedicated capader Beefy- my partner in crime for the majority of capades- and new kids Amy and Danny (who's a really sound guy actually). The wussies, named above, decided to skip this capade entirely. I'm gonna hate myself for saying this- but where's snail and yann when you need them? It's people like snail and yann who'll stare in the face of adversery like distance or risk and shout "ayeee!" and do the capade regardless. Disturbingly, Cheesy decided to just go home instead of even contemplating doing a capade. This was the darkest night of my capading history, and if Beefy decided to join Morna and her gammy foot gang I'd seriously consider packing it in. Loyalty and dedication are virtues that Beefy knows well.
Amy drove myself, Beefy and Danny up to the tattie mound- a place of unspeakable good fortune, left for weeks by an unassuming farmer who still has faith in society's good will. Needless to say, we take advantage of his country ignorance on an almost weekly basis and won't stop 'till his mound is but a speckle of brown potatoes scattered around the ground. Storming out of her car to do the job as quickly and efficiently (and hence less chance of being caught) Danny, Beefy and I grabbed two carrier bags each and began shovelling the tatties into the bags until they were full or fit to burst. As you can imagine this is not only quite a weight, but would cost pounds to buy in a supermarket, so to thank the farmer for his generous contribution we each lobbed a tattie of a cows face. Odd the way they don't show any emotion, I'd have thought a tattie off your face would agitate you- but not to a cow! To these cows a tattie off the face was as indifferent to a fly on their backs. Stupid, senseless cows!
But the riskiest part of the capade was yet to come! As we jumped into Amy's car and Amy burned away from the farm at the speed of light a sharp corner emerged from the fog completely unexpectantly. Slamming the wheel hard-lock to the left, Amy narrowly avoided writing off her car and leaving us in a compromising situation with a bootful of tatties at four in the morning. Could you get more incriminating circumstances?! But luckily she skilfully managed to swerve the car to the left and then bring it back off the left bank onto the road again with no damage or loss of life to show for it. Continuing at a slightly more sedate pace, we soon entered the Meiklemill estate.
Hastily preparing an order of events, Amy pulled up outside Martin J's and we blasted out of the car bags in hand. Emptying the bags completely onto Martin J's lawn we scrambled back into the car to tailblaze it back to the deserting group, laughing hysterically at another successful capade. Not very original, but the crime spree of the tattie boguls continues apace- with our unique style and fluency, the tattie boguls are set to strike again soon. Just remember- if you wake up in the morning with a lawnful of tatties, it's not the end of the world! Consider it a favour from your good pals the Tattie Boguls.
The Theory Of It All
Today I completed the driving theory test- quite easily the most boring test I've ever sat, including second year technical. Everyone said "just read the book the night before" but thankfully I neglected to listen to them and started reading it two nights prior to the test. I'd advise anyone to start reading three days before- you'll need it if you even hope to read all the questions.
For you see instead of giving you perhaps 100 questions to learn (I mean come on- how much is there to learn about driving?) they give you a 380-page monster with up to 4 questions per page. As you can appreciate, there is more than 1000 questions they can ask you. It's not as if there are ten that are practically the same but worded differently, there are at most 4 questions that are essentially the same, leaving at least 250 different answers you're expected to know. And when you consider you're only allowed to drop 5 marks it's no wonder a lot of people fail this test first time round.
The questions range from the unbelievably hard to the ridiculously easy. Most of them require you to pick the "safest" answer, regardless of how impractical this may be. For example one question asks:
"How can you reduce the chances of your car being broken into when unattended?"
* Take all contents with you
* Park near a taxi rank
* Place all valuables on floor
* Park near a fire station
The obvious answer to me would be "place all valuables on the floor" because this does reduce the chances of criminals seeing valuables on chairs etc. But no! "Take all contents with you" is the right answer. I'd love to see the head of the DVLA take every single valuable, fuzzy dice, seat cover and foot mat with him every single time he parks his car to go to the shops. Morons.
Then there are the inexplicably hard questions:
"You are travelling at 50 mph on a good, dry road. What is your shortest overall stopping distance?"
* 36 metres (120 feet)
* 53 metres (175 feet)
* 75 metres (245 feet)
* 96 metres (315 feet)
Answer: 53 metres (175) feet. When you come across one of these, my advice would be to close your eyes and mash your palm off the screen and hope for the best. No one in their right mind memorises these answers, and don't forget you can only afford to drop 5 of these. Pray questions that don't boil down to common sense like these don't crop up.
Then there are more "practices" that you should do but absolutely nobody on the road does. Observe:
"Your indicators may be difficult to see in bright sunlight. What should you do?"
* Put your indicator on earlier
* Give an arm signal as well as using your indicator
* Touch the brakes several times to show stop lights
* Turn as quickly as you can
"Put your indicator on earlier", obviously. But not according to the DVLA! "Give an arm signal" is the correct answer. Excuse me? Give a freaking arm signal?! Surely that presents a hazard in itself! "The suns a bit bright today darling, I think I'll be a courteous driver and stick my arms out the window!" Christs sake, I don't care if its something you're supposed to do, I'll never use hand signals when driving my car, not when the likes of Chappy are on the road.
Some questions are frustrating because several answers could be right, but through psychic connections you're meant to know what the DVLA consider the "best" answer. For example:
"Wherever possible, which one of the following should you do when parking at night?"
* Park in a quiet car park
* Park in a well lit area
* Park facing against the flow of traffic
* Park next to a busy junction
The correct answer is "Park in a well lit area", but I ask you- what's so wrong with parking in a quiet car park? I'd rather the crims didn't have a "well lit area" so they can dismantle my car's security devices, and if my car's in amongst other cars all the better. I'd rather park in a designated car park than an undefined "area", which for all I know isn't even a space I'm allowed to park in. You'll find many questions like this that contradict rational thought.
Also there are a confusing amount of questions to do with trams. I'll run that by you again- trams. Umm... didn't they stop operating like 200 years ago? Excuse my ignorance, but not once in my life have I seen a real, working tram outside the novelty ones in Blackpool. I don't think I need to learn about these ageing contraptions, I view them as relevant to my road discipline as Hovercrafts are. Now stop asking so many questions to do with trams, its not 1803.
Then there are the hundreds of "gift" questions, like this one:
"A driver's behaviour has upset you. It may help if you"
* Stop and take a break
* Shout abusive language
* Gesture to them with your hand
* Follow their car, flashing the headlights
Let me see... using the process of elimination, that leaves "gesture to them with your hand!" Seriously, you'll coat the screen with munk when these types come up, so long as you're not bored to tears by that point. There does get a point where you stop giving a crap as they flood you with inane question after question, but you won't reach that point until the "hazard perception bollocks."
There's a very easy way to pass this "test." You're given 14 video clips of about 30 seconds and you've to simply left-click the mouse when you see a "hazard." Now you're not penalised for clicking at the wrong time, and you're given about 15 clicks per clip. By using very simple maths, all you have to do is click the screen every 2 seconds and you're bound to catch all the hazards they throw at you. It's so easy it makes me want to munk, and I happily clicked away hardly even looking at the damned screen as the points racked up and I was regarded as one of the most perceptive learners Aberdeen had ever seen. You won't need to practice this part of the test, steady rhythm is all you'll need- and a boredom threshold that means you don't collapse half way through as you click thoughtlessly.
When I emerged from my booth and back into the corridor I was told I'd passed. Whoopee. I'd bloody think so too, if Walter's mom can pass this test I should think I can too, especially after reading the whole mind-numbing theory question book. My final score was 35/35 for the theory questions, and 65/75 for the hazard perception bollocks. You'll soon find this certificate in the bin in my room, and not next to the other meaningful certificates like my cycling proficiency. I compare this test to being like Drew's skill with women- I know all the theory, but none of the practical.
Sleeze Mo's
Last night our merry troupe ventured long and far to a forgotten village in the middle of nowhere to join in on a secretive and hastily planned party at the infamous Sleeze Mo's house.
Arriving late it became all too apparent that I wasn't the only person to miss this quaint country dwelling amongst field after field of indistinguishable corn, and if it wasn't for my father's inexplicable sixth-sense I'd probably still be roaming the countryside trying to find her house today.
Tired and not quite believing I'd truly arrived I entered her house cautiously, knowing these simple farming types wouldn't take kindly to a "townser" like me entering the wrong house uninvited. Calling "hello..." my echoe reverberated around her giant lonesome house, as I creaked the door further open to make way for my hefty overnight bag. Then, a slight figure emerged from the darkness clasping what could only be described as a plastic cup. It sent chills down my spine. Attuning myself to my father's sixth-sense I could tell immediately its contents and probably guess the volume and make. Yes, it was unmistakably vodka- returned once again to ruin a good nights drinking and push me to my very limits. This was going to be a long night.
"Hi!" she chirped, practically spilling the vile substance down my shirt as she embraced me. Unhanding me she then led me to the communal room for those who didn't want to segregate themselves from the off (like a couple of people did, who entered Sleeze's house and immediately outcast themselves in the conservatory). Thankfully this room was also where all the free food was, and I instantly set about to redeem the cost of travelling here in food. I stuffed my face like a ghetto child in Jimmy Chungs, scoffing and ploughing as much food into my now hamster-like face and storing food in my pockets for later. Disgusted, Morna started to edge the food to the opposite end of the table, but I wasn't done. Totally neglecting to engage in conversation I eat like a pig on acid, spluttering copious amounts of unchewed food on the table and splattering shards of crisps directly into my generous hosts face.
Slowly but surely more and more people showed up and the party began to kick off. The "punch"- if that's really what it was- disappeared rather fast, despite it having the look and consistency of thrown up canteen food. I for one wouldn't turn down free drink, but whoever spiked it with more vodka can expect a grand bitch-slap from yours truly, as it made my third batch almost unpleasantly strong. To add to the vodka-malibu based punch Morna was handing out vodka jellies, although I defy anyone to get drunk off these- and that includes super light-weight Isla Anders-on-islam. They were a tasty medium between hard liquor and water though, and ideal for flinging at people who dared approach the sweet mound placed directly in front of me.
Besides my group a select few Hattoners made a guest appearance, as well as Beefy, drew and a few misplaced girls. Later in the evening we had the pleasure of being visited by Lorcan, although I'm damned if anyone there actually knows him let alone wanted him to be there. I avoided conversation with him, for the sole reason that we have nothing in common and any conversation would almost certainly go back to his prized bike somehow.
The most awkward conversation of the evening came with Hattoner Gary Hill. Now I do like Gary- but I don't know him. So, being the sociable chap that I am, I began to ask him about next year, the cadets etc- the usual drill when you talk to someone you vaguely know. You ask about something that everyone has to face (i.e next years plans), then you pull out some random snippet of information that you have on them (i.e the cadets) and hope for the best. After I'd exhausted both these avenues of conversation, I asserted that it was time to get most profusely drunk, and I set off to claim another one of Cheesy's beers.
The party went from there with more and more people getting drunk, so in true party spirits myself and Dabby challenged tete to the dice game. Roll a 5 or 6 and tete dances like the poulet he is for 3 solid rib-tickling minutes, anything else and we have to take the shots marked on the dice. Naturally the forces of fate slapped me in the face as I haplessly threw a 4- to tetes unfathomable joy and our misery. So 4 shots it was, and for some reason Danny put a time limit to this which we kept to. I feel like such a mug now when I look back at the whole incident.
Later- as is customary- myself and Dabby managed to sneak out of the towering house to cause havoc in downtown Tarves. Tete spied us leaving and insisted on joining us, so we felt obliged to take the drunkard with us. I genuinely felt sorry for leaving louise, sharon and lauren behind but I hope they understand it was for the greater good. For a start they'd all act like the parental authority- "don't do this", louise would moan, "don't do that" sharon would affirm. Also, they'd get caught if it came to the chase and submit to feeble interrogation instantly- ask lauren about the time she told mrs stuart all out the wee issue when it was still a pirate operation. Folded like a napkin she did.
Tarves, being the boring and lifeless place that it is, didn't offer any obvious capades. Besides morna, I don't know a single person who lives there- and that's not a good sign for capading. Spotting a full bin, I decided to invert it and tete helped me put it in the phone box. Collect call for an inverted bin? Haha... seemed funnier at the time. Tete then found the local (I hate that word) community (and I hate that one even more) noticeboard and took the liberty to open it and rip apart the local shmucky news bulletins. Dabby and I then gave him moral and physical support by stamping on the fallen notices and tearing down the rest.
But the crowning point would come when Dabby nicked (or may not have nicked) a solitary traffic cone, followed closely by me nicking a burnt "for sale" sign. It appears that the local skaters got to this sign before me, but I decided to lug it all the way to Morna's for good measure anyway. Tete returned empty handed, but left his mark on the community board permanently.
By this point many people had left, and those that remained were well on their way to bucklesville. A clutch of hattoners left early, I don't know why, but all I know is that their presence wasn't empowering. Mouse showed up and then almost immediately disappeared with Sharon to shaft her against a metal railing outside the old cemetery. He didn't return for a full two hours, but when he did he had a hungry look in his eyes and Sharon looked dazed and completely worn. Nova-casa, he is not.
Once Amy had left with molly dolly and Dabby the party kicked off into a lesbian full-house orgy. Living room, stairs, bathroom- you couldn't move without rubbing against someone's genitals. Sleeze's plan was now in full fruition as she pulled Lauren and Claire and Claire, before rigorously denying any bisexual tendencies. "It's just a bit of fun star, c'mon- jump in" she squealed as graeme thrust her head towards his genital region and she did unspeakable things to it. "No thanks" I added with an impassive voice, leaving the room to have drunken banter with fellow orgy-disliking friend Drew. This continued for at least an hour as Sleeze and co passed each other round like a sexual game of pass the parcel, a euphemism whereby you replace "parcel" with "brothel ho."
It's times like this you wish you had a camera.
Inevitably the pimps and hos got bored of experimenting with each other, and sheepishly wandered the house trying to divert their minds from their embarrassing scene. I talked with Drew some more, before deciding to bag the last bed in the house and headed off to use it. I don't know why, but that night is the lightest I've ever slept. I woke up every single time someone walked into the room, it was if Tom was there in spirit, making it impossible for me to sleep. Thankfully my slumberful state avoided me the job of helping to clean up, and when I left in the morning the house looked good as new. Except the memo pad in the kitchen, that still has some of last nights scribblings on it. But not that that would put Sleeze out of her way, the very nature of the childish drawings being, in a roundabout way, the theme of the evening: A hand jerking off a large penis into someones mouth. That's why you went to Sleezes afterall, isn't it?
Txt Tlk
I have a confession to make: I'm absolutely obsessed with texting people. Let me take you down the rabbit hole and enlighten you on this worldwide phenomenon that has gripped my life and left me a broken man.
It all started a few years back with my Nokia 402. The brick-like structure was my gateway to conversation from a long distance, despite few people owning these at the time. In fact, it's fair to say I received much criticism for this purchase from my peer group (but then again I received much criticism for drinking alcohol. Funny how things turn around in time). So there I was- alone in a world ignorant to technological advance, and I suffered long for my decision to enter this brave new world. The few I could text joined me and we formed an under-world, texting feverishly and enjoying the goods that being pioneers brings.
But this was just the beginning of what would ultimately dominate my life. Suckling from the metaphorical Nokia tit, I grew in power and wisdom. Months passed and more money was being thrown at the colossal 'mobile' phone, as my world spiralled into a compulsive texting frenzy. I knew I needed help but I just couldn't stop myself- I texted night and day like a motherfucker striving for speed, efficiency and presentation. It gripped me, I couldn't stop- but I liked it. I loved the feeling of risk as I sent just that one extra text, knowing it could push my balance over the edge. I began to develop a twitch in my thumbs when I wasn't near my mobile, and the sounds of "standard message alert tone" would taunt me during these long nights.
I couldn't sleep. I had to text. Sometimes I would find myself texting random numbers just to find one light in the dark abyss of a still-young industry. I would stare at my phone face for hours just waiting for it to light up and welcome me with a brand new text- a brand new adventure! These were the most exciting nights of my life.
However, my world fell apart one fateful bus journey home. It was just an ordinary bus journey- I sat there and gazed at the seat in front, waiting for my next fix when someone would reply to my text. I sat impatiently, tapped my feet and glanced at my phone. It was gone. The phone I had left on the seat next to me was robbed in front of my very eyes. Oh, I searched. How I searched. I held up the bus for a full ten minutes as I tore apart the seats and demanded to have my pride and joy returned. I remember every last second of that epoch-making day, from the fury and frantic searching, to the look of despair on the drivers face as I grabbed his legs, kneeling, repentant, sorriful, weeping like a baby, urging- praying, crying, sobbing, the feeling of emptiness- I experienced a rainbow of emotion, and when I was finally cast out into the cold bus shelter I could not move. To be so cruelly separated, I needed to find my lost companion again, even if it meant going to the edges of the world for him.
I called the bus station night and day, even making a personal visit to demand an explanation. I even contemplated suing, but I knew it would never bring back my reason to live. The following month was the worst in the life. I scoured Ellon for a job to buy a replacement but it seemed that the business owners of Ellon were also in this conspiracy to reduce me to nothing. I would find myself tapping into thin air, pretending to send a text, but it was no use. Without the faithful sounds of a waiting text, I would sit and wait for the air to return my delusion. It never did. I spent the next month locked in my room, refusing to speak or entertain my jeering family. What do they understand, they've never had to lose their dependency. I've always considered my 402 closer family than my own sisters.
After a long, harrowing month of torture my dad gave me some money to buy a new phone. I've never felt so much love for him before, and there he stood- like a shining angel, handing me the keys to heaven. I flung my arms round him and didn't let go for what seemed like an eternity. I bolted down to the bus stop at the speed of light, and leapt onto the first bus to Aberdeen- the city of second chances. I ran into the nearest O2 shop and practically threw my money at the till-man. "Give me the best phone you can for ÂŁ100!" I screamed, and walked in a brisk circle, nervous and impatient for my new lifeline. Eventually he handed me the noble, great, loving Nokia 3310 box which I ripped open instantly. This day was the most memorable of my life, bar none.
This was a turning point in my life. My friends were catching on to the mobile craze, and I texted them 24 hours a day. It was like I'd been given back my old life, and I revelled in it, savouring every single moment.
To this day I still send around 13-15 texts per day using my patented text technique. One day I may teach you the intricacies of it, but for now I'll simply leave you with an example. Type (C stands for Nokia C button or clear, - is for ease of reading only) as fast as you can:
333-6-777-6-C-33-6-C-33-6-3-666-9-C-6
F - -R - - -E - - -E - -D-O - -M
Practice this up to 15 times per day and you'll soon develop the fastest texting technique on the planet. Embrace the joy of texting everyone- communication is what separates humans from animals, afterall. I'll never slow down my text tendencies- I love it, I love it more than life itself. Without my mobile, I'd go mad. And I mean that in the most sincere way possible.
The Beach, A Short Summary
So there we were at the beach, minding our own business when a small child of height 3-feet emerges from the back of a sandcastle. Then, completely out of the blue Dabby announces "I'm going to go and fill her hole" and chuckles to himself.
Charming.
Evercrack
Recently I was on the phone to a friend and the conversation of a certain midget being a bender arose. This, inevitably, led to discussion of what he might be up to at the moment. We both agreed that he could only be playing dransik- an online game where nerds gather to escape the real world- and he would be into his seventh or eigth hour of gameplay that evening. I then half changed the subject by saying that Dransik isn't a game that's notorious for sucking players in and preventing them from leading a normal life- it's a game called Everquest, or as some more addicted gamers call it- Evercrack.
Everquest is simlilar to Dransik except that it's more complex and even nerdier nerds play it. You have to be extra hardcore to survive in this world, probably even more so than in the real world, if you get my drift. If the players of Everquest put as much work into real life as they do for Everquest they'd all be doctors or something ("Dr N00bKiLlA!!"- I like that!) But as it turns out they're all spotty-faced glass-toting weasels with no social skills that don't require the use of a keyboard, wittling away the early hours of the morning ridding their world of "n00bs", who even then still spend at least five hours a day on it.
I'm losing my point here a little, so I'll cut to the chase. I decided to read up on this a little and I uncovered knowledge perhaps I now wish I hadn't.
Everquest is a killer. Several people have collapsed in internet cafes and in their own homes from exhaustion, starvation, epileptic fits- you name it. One person died from a massive 36-hour Everquest bender that saw him take in no fluids during the whole gamefest. One committed suicide for unknown reasons in front of his monitor, but the following exerpts of an article might explain: (source: JS Online)
"One client - a 21-year-old college student - stopped going to class within eight weeks after he started playing EverQuest his senior year.
After playing the game for 36 hours straight, he had a psychotic break because of sleep deprivation, Parker said.
"He thought the characters had come out of the game and were chasing him," Parker said. "He was running through his neighborhood having hallucinations. I can't think of a drug he could have taken where he would have disintegrated in 15 weeks.""
Sadly this isn't an isolated incident either. I reckon this guy had problems before he even switched on his computer, but the game just pushed him over the edge. I know I'd lose it spending 36 hours in the company of Everquest nerds.
"The 21-year-old Hudson man was addicted to EverQuest, says his mother, Elizabeth Woolley of Osceola. He sacrificed everything so he could play for hours, ignoring his family, quitting his job and losing himself in a 3-D virtual world where more than 400,000 people worldwide adventure in a never-ending fantasy.
On Thanksgiving morning last year, Shawn Woolley shot himself to death at his apartment in Hudson. His mother blames the game for her son's suicide. She is angry that Sony Online Entertainment, which owns EverQuest, won't give her the answers she desires. She has hired an attorney who plans to sue the company in an effort to get warning labels put on the games.
"It's like any other addiction," Elizabeth Woolley said last week. "Either you die, go insane or you quit. My son died.""
Powerful stuff, this.
"In the virtual world of EverQuest, players control their characters through treasure-gathering, monster-slaying missions called quests. Success makes the characters stronger as they interact with other players from all over the real world."
This makes me laugh so much! The author is clearly trying to distance himself from 'being a nerd'- listen to him! "Treasure-gathering", "missions called quests"- he's totally trying to pretend he doesn't know anything about this game besides what a few sources have quoted him! He belittles the game enormously- "monster-slaying missions"; he's totally trying to make it sound so petty and just like any other videogame! Anyway, the article continues:
"Woolley has tried tracing her son's EverQuest identity to discover what might have pushed him over the edge. Sony Online cites its privacy policy in refusing to unlock the secrets held in her son's account.
She has a list of names her son scrawled while playing the game: "Phargun." "Occuler." "Cybernine." But Woolley is not sure if they are names of online friends, places he explored in the game or treasures his character may have captured in quests.
"Shawn was playing 12 hours a day, and he wasn't supposed to because he was epileptic, and the game would cause seizures," she said. "Probably the last eight times he had seizures were because of stints on the computer.""
You'd think he'd have taken the hint after his first seizure. Anyway, that's admirable dedication to duty- how many people would continue to play 12 hours a day having suffered seven previous seizures? This guy did.
"A psychologist diagnosed him with depression and schizoid personality disorder, symptoms of which include a lack of desire for social relationships, little or no sex drive and a limited range of emotions in social settings.
"This fed right into the EverQuest playing," Woolley said. "It was the perfect escape.""
We should get yann to see this psychologist.
"Parker said people who are isolated, prone to boredom, lonely or sexually anorexic are much more susceptible to becoming addicted to online games. Having low self-esteem or poor body image are also important factors, he said."
Hahahaha!! Oh, this is vintage! Perhaps yann is "sexually anorexic" or has a "poor body image"! Hahaha!
"Parker said that any traumatic setback to Shawn Woolley's character in EverQuest could have traumatized an already vulnerable young man.
It may be that the character was slain in combat and Woolley had trouble recovering him. Or, he could have lost a treasured artifact or massive wealth, or been cast out of one of the game's social clubs, called guilds.
"The social component is big because it gives players a false sense of relationships and identity," Parker said. "They say they have friends, but they don't know their names."
This guy just doesn't stop!! "Wooley had trouble recovering him"- he makes the game sound so incredibly lame! "Lost a treasured artifact"- c'mon, this guys taking the piss so much!
"Elizabeth Woolley remembers when her son was betrayed by an EverQuest associate he had been adventuring with for six months. Shawn's online brother-in-arms stole all the money from his character and refused to give it back.
"He was so upset, he was in tears," she said. "He was so depressed, and I was trying to say, 'Shawn, it's only a game.' I said he couldn't trust those people.""
This just gets better and better! "Shawn's online brother-in-arms"- perhaps he was really his "brother-in-law"?! Maybe his wife asked him for a divorce?! Ask yann though- rumour has it he's been married three times in Dransik, his "poor body image" being the cause of two previous divorces. Finally, the guy ends by saying
"People like to create new personas," Parker said. "You see a lot of gender-bending."
Poor yann, perhaps cutebabe03 wasn't the blonde haired sweetheart he was led to believe afterall...
If anything this article shows the world that yann has immersed himself in. But remember kids- it's all fun and games until someone has a psychotic breakdown. Play safe, just say no.
"The Blog Bandwagon"
It seems that fate doesn't come without a touch of irony. The exploits of a certain Tom Banks have been well documented on this site, almost to the point where I felt compelled to putting Tom's name in the credits. One thing that hasn't hit Tom- or any of us for that matter- is the prospect of being a part of "the real world, son" (as my dad would say in one of his drunken ramblings). Well for one of us "the real world" has come all too soon, and that one, out of all conceivable possibilities, is Tom.
Tom- the guy who won the coveted "most likely to be living at home at 40" prize at prom- is packing up and leaving home within the week, much to my surprise and all my peers. I still maintain he won't last a week, but I admire his decision to move out and make something of his life. I won't pretend I'm not shocked- I'm still bowled over by the news, but in the long run it's definitely a good decision. Parties every week at Tom's expense (he damn well owes us one after all the times we've hosted him!), using Tom's Dice flat as a retreat after nights on the town and eating Tom out of house and home are all things I'm looking forward to in the near future. Tom's hit the "big, bad world" and has stole a march on his uni-going pals, who won't be moving out for a couple of months yet, and seems determined to prove a point. Good for him- I'm actually proud of Old Tam for a change, and if anything this whole incident has shown me that from the clouds the sun can rise. Ahhh. I feel all warm inside now.
Elsewhere the blog bandwagon has almost ground to a halt. The main reason I chose to start a blog was to give something back to all the bloggers who've provided me with entertainment over the year, and also to kill some of that seemingly endless summer holiday free-time that I've been overburdened with. To my knowledge the prolific antined was the first to bite the dust, followed closely by JJ's useful waste. Of course the likes of yann have tried and failed, although in his case it was after one measly post. Tete also started a blog but realised that his writing skills weren't quite up to scratch to keep a regular userbase much to, well, no one's disappointment.
The best blog by a long way has been Dabby's for a long time. Being a prospective journalist it's no surprise that he's won a lot of acclaim for his humorous posts but sadly failed to find a suitably witty, amusing and ultimately reliable partner. Tom wrote for a few posts and packed it in the same way that JJ also gave up after a few inspired posts. These days Dabby's not finding much time to write, so you'll be lucky to find more than 2 posts per week on his landmark site.
Local heroes Kai and Alex Dick both have a natural flair for writing and have had two of the best blogs around for a long time also. You would do well to read their archives because these two could definitely get a job writing for a lad magazine or something similar, such is the high quality of their writing. Also Kayleigh's blog was a damned good read while it lasted, but bit the bullet a few weeks before the prom. A real shame that one. Last but not least the young pretender, Isla, has been posting on an ever more decreasing frequency, leaving one to wonder how active the site still is.
So what's the connection? None of them have ever said goodbye when their posts dried up and stopped appearing. It seems that none of these blogs, with the exception of Dabby whose site is still live, have either admitted defeat or stopped by to give one last thankyou blog. Its such a shame because just 6 months ago you could spend an hour just soaking in all the written goodness’ each night, but now there are just a couple of blogs left worth reading. Even sharon's antined replacement the Teenage Diaries has all but died, leaving Sharon's only port of call being the AUBL forums. This leaves me- the last of a dying breed- to soldier on, bringing you something to do on the net when not looking at porn. So please try to keep coming back here now and again, without interest this site will surely face the same fate of many, many blogs before it. Then where would that leave you? Exactly- AUBL. And I know you don't want that.
Driving Lessons With Pa
Learning to drive is an exercise in frustration and annoyance. For me this hadn't been the case- until now. Yes hill starts can be a pain, and yes changing gears is a pain, and yes it's a pain learning how to work the infernal contraption, but there are great rewards to be had. Access to most places is the obvious plus, and there is also the achievement factor too amongst many.
I'm the sort of person who brushes off frustration, casts a smile and says "hey, at least I'm not KP." The grass isn't always greener on the other side, and life, in general, is good. To put a fine point on it- I'm a happy person. Coupled with this I found a suitably laid-back instructor- the infamous Bill, and learned how to drive in a tranquil and peaceful environment. This was all very well until my dad finally got me insurance on the Saxo, and took off where my instructor left.
Now my dad isn't very tolerant. To be blunt- he's the most impatient git I've ever had the misfortune of being taught by. He's actually a lecturer at Fraserburgh college, and I genuinely feel sorry for the poor cretins who have to deal with his methods of teaching weekly. It came to me as a real shock just how volatile and unreasonable he can be, the only way to describe it would be passenger-rage.
To give an example- I've had 16 lessons on a diesel car. For those who don't drive it's almost impossible to stall a diesel car where it's almost impossible not to stall a petrol car like the Saxo. So you'd think he'd be a bit reasonable as I learn to drive a whole new car and adjust to its little quirks, but no, he reacts like I'd pulled a handbrake turn into a busy four-way crossing.
"Fucks sake", he begins, "have you never heard of an accelerator?" I'm thinking to myself I didn't need to use it to start my instructors car, but clearly do for this one, so I put the car into neutral and restart. "Ok I'll try it again" I start, before stalling the bitch again. "Jesus" he moans, before shaking his head. Putting the revs to the max, I power out of the parking space and roar out of the car park. To this he moans non-stop, "if you're going to be a boy racer we're just going to stop here" he adds. No pleasing some people.
I've been getting an hour of lessons a day with my insufferable father for a week and I've had to endure way more than any man should. Nothing's ever right- be it the speed I'm at, the speed I'm not at etc there's always something wrong. For the past week he's been greeting at me because I- very seldomly- cross my hands. "I don't know what the hell he's been teaching you" he'll say, playing the eternal upper-hand that we all know he's got from 35 years of driving. "Hands not past 6 o'clock" he affirms confidently, a fatherism of his that he loves way more than he should.
Today I stalled the car for the first time in a few lessons. This happened because my dad- in his unquestioned wisdom- left the car in third gear when he last parked it. "You're a dick dad" I add, without the need to look at his theatrical moans and exaggerated expression of disbelief. This he does every time something goes slightly wrong.
Everything must be done "by the book" he says as I go round a corner a little too fast to catch the next set of traffic lights before they change. I know this, but he says this every single time I do something that every driver does but you're not supposed to do on the day of your test.
You have to see what he's like in the seat next to you before you can truly appreciate what a pain learning with him is. If even the slightest, smallest, most insignificant thing goes wrong (like forgetting to indicate when going past a parked car) then he'll shake his head or mutter "god give me strength" or even worse "jesus fucking christ." He pretends that he's doing this discretely to himself, but it's so loud you'd be very hard pressed to miss it. It's no wonder some people grow up with road rage inbuilt into their psyche.
Today's lesson went quite well, so well in fact that I finally decided to book my theory months after I was meant to. It'll be next friday, and I'll book my practical after I've passed the theory. If there's one thing I've learned from my father it'll be that no instructor could possibly be as intolerant as he is. And if I can make one whole hour without my dad tutting, shaking his head or cursing my existence then I'll know I'm ready for absolutely anything the DVLA can throw at me.
The State Of Play
Thank god for Microsoft.
Had I said that three years ago or earlier I'd have slit my wrists in disgust or blamed strong alcohol for my wild comment. Microsoft, for many years, has been a byword for 'cool' between spotty-faced, Dransik-playing, WiReZ-LoViNg nerds across the globe. Indeed ask a pop what Microsoft was ten years ago and they'd have turned their back on you and ignored you like you'd asked them how many pubes they've grown in the last week. For my part I never knew what or who Microsoft was until I was maybe 12 when my dad brought home a crappy second hand PC that gathered dust as I played football and my SNES mostly, ignoring the newfangled 486.
And this is an important point- I've always been a Nintendo zealot for many years, ignoring the mighty sega, PC and especially Sony. I'm not going to give you a history lesson, but basically Nintendo make the finest games and game systems just in front of Sega, who are almost equally ingenious. Nintendo make a lot of money- their Pokemon franchise is effectively keeping them afloat these days, but the old Gameboy sold more than 1,000,000,000 units worldwide so you can see how strong nintendo's stranglehold on the gaming market was at its peak. This was all very well for serious gamers- as I used to be, but am no more- until the arrival of the Playstation that rocked the market.
Pushing the Saturn and N64 aside the Playstation enjoyed an 8 year reign (and is still going) and put serious strain on both these great companies. As has been well documented Sega had to pull out of the hardware market after the Dreamcast flopped despite being years ahead of its time. It was only going to be so long before Nintendo would collapse under the mighty Playstation powerhouse, with waning Gamecube sales and the company forced to release a new gameboy advance (SP) because of faults of its predecessor.
This makes me sad enough to cry real tears.
Nintendo have for many years led the way in innovation and creative thinking, breaking down barriers and pushing the envelope in every respect alongside Sega. Even today the humble D-pad is a Nintendo patent, although they should hold a patent for that classic Nintendo magic that creates the most ingenious games of all time. Playstation, on the other hand, is diametrically opposite to Nintendo in a very bad way.
Sony are only interested in making as much money as they can. That sounds reasonable but it's coming at a heavy price for gamers who do not like generic re-hashed crap and sequel after sequel of tedious driving games like the Playstation generation crave. I hate the Playstation 2 itself- an ugly mound of black plastic, the games are jaggy and devoid of any gameplay whatsoever, there are only 2 controller ports (nice one Sony) and the pad is the same as the original Playstation! But it's the image that people are buying into, not the console itself. It's not cool to own a Nintendo console the same way that it wasn't cool to own a Dreamcast, and this tragic stigma is encouraging Sony to churn out ream after ream of crap 'cool' games. This is not my idea of fun- playing appalling games by a shameless company.
Things looked grim for not just serious gamers but the gaming market as a whole. With Nintendo about to become bankrupt or resort to becoming a third party developer like Sega this leaves only Sony in the console market. This is obviously bad news- all monopolies are bad news. No competitors leaves Sony free to charge whatever they like for consoles or games, and puts them under no pressure to perform. This was all until a super-heavyweight decided to step in and take action:
All stand for Microsoft. Once the domain of nerds, Microsoft were set to muscle their way into the market and redefine the parameters like Nintendo did. It was unbearably exciting. What would the console look like? What about the games? What about the stigma of buying a Microsoft console? Microsoft answered in emphatic style- the most powerful home console of all time, the greatest launch title lineup of all time, an unbelievably aggressive marketing strategy and, of course, its forte- Xbox Live.
Xbox had landed and now it wasn't Xbox vs Playstation- It was Microsoft vs Sony. A modern day clash of the titans, Sony still has the upper hand- for now. Microsoft will not leave without a fight though, and with Xbox 2 and Playstation 3 very much nearing completion the next phase of battle is going to a very, very keenly contested war.
And you know what? I like the Xbox. The games are supremely playable, Xbox Live is completely out of this world and the company ethos is Gamers First. Anyone seen Halo 2 or Half-life 2? If not then you are missing out on what are surely going to be the greatest shooters of all time, bar none. The Xbox is exciting and new, and has revolutionised broadband gaming. With the Xbox, quality gaming has come with a company who refuse to rest on their laurels (they're currently losing ÂŁ100 on every console sold... that's dedication!) You may hate them, but if it wasn't for Microsoft and their limitless finance you may well have had to have shelled out ÂŁ400 for a new Playstation 3 to play Generic Racer 6 or Textbook Platformer 11. Microsoft have bullied their way into a volatile and hospitable market and are making Sony sweat- you have to admire them for that.
Although I'd much rather Nintendo were number 1 worldwide I'd easily pay over and above what I should to have a decent competitor offer salvation from the Playstation wide-boy society. Life's not fair, and Nintendo going bust would be travesty- but so long as there's a big name company like Microsoft to mix things up a little, there may yet be hope for people who don't read books by their covers- or buy games for a logo.
Breaking News!
You've all seen them before- local shmucky news stations that broadcast the most irrelevant news imaginable each and every day. Every day is a slow news day for the writers of the script for the local would-be presenters to struggle and slurr their way through the day's happenings. In a way I almost pity them. It's hardly their fault that nothing ever happens in Grampain- yet they soldier on regardless, determined to broadcast every insignificant happening in the dullest region in Britain.
In the face of national news stations the regional news is crushed on a daily basis. Their ratings pale in comparison to sky news, for example, and it's not just the news that lets them down. The presenters, studio, outside reporters; in fact, everything is like a cheap imitation. But don't get me wrong- their laughable attempts to bring significant 'local' (I hate that word) news is exactly why no one watches them.
"And in tonight's news" [drum beats] "a north east man is questioned for allegedly grabbing a young boys spectacles off his face" [drum beats] "we meet a school where the pupils are holding a mock election" [drum beats] "and we will be looking at the rising level of traffic in Aberdeen's city center and talking to the Aberdeen Council Traffic Representative, Gordon Smith." [drum beats]
In the nicest way possible- I wish they'd just quit. I hate watching programmes on channel 3 and in between programmes there are "all the local news headlines from your area." It pisses me off. You just need to pick up a copy of the Evening Express to know that nothing ever happens in Aberdeenshire, so why try to report on it every day without fail? They'd be as well saying "and nothing has happened today again. I'm just going to sit here for the next fifteen minutes and eat a bagel" and show an archive picture of a bagel in the box in the top right hand corner of the screen as the substandard presenter chomps on his lunch for a quarter hour. In fact, why not just have porn instead of the news? I can't imagine anyone missing the 'local headlines', and even if they did I'm sure porn would be a more than adequate replacement for them. Unless they're someone like Olga, who probably does set a reminder for the Grampian headlines- but she doesn't speak anyway.
If you've never watched the Grampian News just imagine the blandness of a cardboard cake, the longevity of a steps record, the watchability of a Takeshi's castle omnibus (i.e none), and the credibility of Tom's word. Grampian News has hit new lows, but don't take my word for it- speak your mind in the new Tagboard! Go on- be opinionated. Here's a quick test to see how opinionated you are:
Q: What's the greatest song ever written?
If you can't answer that then you're a conformist, mindless, impressionable goon with no opinions that you can call your own. You're a product of a great teaching machine that stifles creativity and own thinking- you're one of many; indistinguishable from your neighbour and not a separate entity but part of a whole. And you're not allowed to use the Tagboard either 'cos you're an initiative-less lackey and only individuals who speak for themselves are allowed to use it. So there.
Star Teaches The Ancient Art Of Insulting
There's someone I hate very, very much and I think regular readers will have an idea who it could be. I've been racking my brains today trying to find the very worst thing in the world I could call them but I'm struggling.
At first I thought that shorter slags would be more profound and work better, perhaps "you nigger" would be suitable but then again black rappers call each other niggers (see MOP- Ante-up for dramatic demonstration). However the person I'm hating so much right now isn't black, gay or resembles a woman's reproductive organs so that's out the window.
Then I thought that to hurt them I'd have to use some personal inside knowledge to make them suffer. "Your dad's an alckie" sounded suitable but then perhaps their parents don't even drink, but then I could say "ya mom's a ho", but that's also highly unlikely. I could use size, height, facial features or anything but then they'd counter it with something even more personal against me so that's out the window. I could simply say "you're a bitch and no one likes you" for female, or "you're a male dog and no one likes you" for male but then the term "bitch" has lost it's strength over the years, and "male dog" has yet to take off in Britain.
Going personal and being profound just doesn't fit the bill, so I thought an inventive swearing conjunction would floor them and make a comeback almost impossible. I can imagine me walking down a corridor and them walking towards me and me pinning them against the wall. I'd whisper in their ear "you're a gayface with aids", or even better "you goat-shafting, bell-sucking, knob-cheese-eating, shrimp-humping nazi-worshipping cunt." While being nearly impossible to retaliate to, these insults are almost certainly the height of childish behaviour and I'd contradict the purpose of the task I'd set out to do. Also they'd forget the first part of the swearing conjunction and I'd have to repeat it to make them remember. I want them to look in the mirror in the mornings and think "man... I'm not a goat-shafting, bell-sucking, knob-cheese-eating, shrimp-humping nazi-worshipping cunt... am I...?" I want them to doubt themselves and bring themselves down after I've planted the seeds of doubt into them. I want them to suffer day and night.
Easily the hardest form of insult to pull off is the witty comeback. I could think of pre-formulated comebacks or plan a witty insult beforehand but it would have to executed precisely and timed beautifully for it to work. I'd see them and say, bitchily "hey, no one told me the circus was coming today!" That hurts their fashion sense and their integrity and is sure to bring laughs all round, but it would have to be obvious who I was addressing. Of course they could counter saying "I know you are, but what am I?" (this comeback being the limit of their wit), to which I would roll my eyes and say "I see two years in College couldn't buy you a witty comeback" and I'd be hailed as the wittiest guy ever. Yes, this does seem like an appropriate cause of action on reflection.
To add force to your insults it's often useful to use their name during your insult, like "[insert name], you are a petty, penny-pinching theif are you not?" or "I'd have thought much more of you, [insert name]." I would create an idiot-proof flow-chart to formulate your very own insults but this would tarnish a noble art that has stood centuries. No, that will not do- you must practice the art of insulting others yourself.
Sometimes, when in polite society or when decorum is called for you can still sneak in the occasional sly insult. These have to be gauged very carefully so that they can be interpreted either way. Observe:
Me: "My, I like your hair [insert name]!"
Insultee: "Do you? It was done by Pradolf" [they beam and boast further]
Me: "Yes, it really captures your youth" [insults age difference] "In fact, I'd say it says volumes for your budgeting skills. You really have an eye for the bargains" [insults hairstyle inferring cheapness]
So you see children, it doesn't matter where you are- you can always put in sly insults if you are observant. Another favourite example of mine is not standing when someone of importance enters like the Pope. No one will see you sitting amongst the standing masses, and it takes them down a peg or two. This is an example of the non-verbal insult.
Many NEDs enjoy using the single-finger salute insult, very unimaginative and exactly what you'd expect of such company. A step down from "the finger" is the classic "wanker sign", but I'm far too above that to stoop to the level of discussing this one further. You can choose to ignore someone, badmouth them to their friends and family or exclude them from your activities. It's all good- so long as you keep the upper hand you may yet become a sage master like myself.
And that concludes my brief looking over of how to insult people subtly or obviously. For more information, please phone for a leaflet or details of my next workshop- "Advanced Insulting With Star" (spaces are limited). So when I next see the person I hate watch my actions very closely- you may yet learn something, you ignorant little brat.
Good Old Tom
I was going to go to the beach today with a group of friends but it turns out that if Tom decides to change plans at the last minute, and Tom doesn't feel like going to the beach today, and Tom doesn't feel like letting you know plans have been changed then you have to change your days plans without notice. If Tom doesn't feel like doing something then everyone's plans have to revolve around Tom because Tom has the final say on everything. Once again I find good, considerate old Tom being the good friend to me that he always is. I feel sorry for the poor bastards who have to share a house with thoughtful old Tom next year:
Adam: This is the third week in a row you haven't cleaned the dishes when I've asked you. It's your turn [gets really angry] and why the fuck didn't you tell me you were going to take my guitar to JJs?
Tom: I'll do them later, fucks sake man they're just dishes. I'll let you know next time, sorry.
[Three weeks later...]
Adam: Get off your fucking fat motherfucking ass Tom and do some fucking work you pathetic piece of shit. You've done fuck-all work in the house since you got here, I'm not your fucking mother.
Tom: Jeez man don't sweat it! I'll clean up later, jeez calm down, you'd think I'd shafted your mum or something. Jeez...
[A month later]
Adam: You can find someone else to share a house with, it's been left to me to tidy everything and do all the work. And you never let me know what's happening, you're such an inconsiderate git. God help the poor bastard who lives here next.
Tom: Oh, ok. Bye. Leave the keys on the kitchen top.
Of course this play is slightly under-exaggerated. Adam would have left after 3 weeks, although I'd go as far to say that a week with dutiful, considerate old Tom would be enough to piss anyone off enough to leave or leave a permanent mark on him. I don't even live with him, I'm supposed to be his friend! Hahahaha! Oh dear god, I'm almost crying here! Oh man, some friend eh.
I think you understand what being a friend to poor old Tom entails, lest I continue and lose readership. 'Till next time Tom screws me over, I'm all out.
Tattie Picking
It's 1:40am and I've just returned from a memorable summer holiday capade. Let me explain all:
This capade actually starts way, way back on thursday. Each thursday I go for a half hour run around the countryside in Ellon-shire and generally it's not all that much fun doing it on your own, but I perservere anyway. Usually I just look ahead of me but to pass the time these days I'll maybe take in the scenery or watch the cows cheerfully chew on grass all day long. But not this day. On thursday something quite odd and well out of the ordinary greeted me on my daily run.
To my right in front of a large barn was a mountain of potatoes that lay there as if there were nowhere better to put them. It... it just isn't what you expect to see. Cow here, road there... but such a pile of potatoes! Absurd! I actually stopped to double-check what I'd seen and to reassure myself that it wasn't a mirage or something, heck, I even picked one up. They were real all right, and an image of me gleefully skipping down the lane pockets full of tatties and a woman chasing me with an apron and rolling pin flooded my brain. Continuing my run I had plenty of time to plot and scheme about my discovery.
Fast forward to friday and I'm in the booth with the lads, pint in hand and telling wild porkies about my otherwise dull existence. We're chatting and the alcohol is flowing freely as more and more people huddle round the table when they finish work and come down for good times. A couple of hours pass and many are drunk, most notably Tina and Cheesy who are a tad worse for wear. It's now that I announce my masterplan:
"Who's up for a capade?" I start, scanning the table. Everyone mumbles and discusses what could be done for a capade before I interupt and say "no need to think! I know exactly what to do..."
Then, cartoon style, all you hear is "awssp psst hergrusss" as we huddle round and I delegate and you hear distorted whispers. That's until you hear "asssp ok then?" And everyone agrees and releases themselves from the huddle.
Last orders followed by a quick pitstop at Jaxxxxxx and the large group is reduced to just me, beefy, cheesy and tina and the rest all head for home. Center of Ellon to my house is a considerable walk but when you're intoxicated it's considerably quicker. On the way tina stumbles and hits the deck, much to everyone's amusement and we continue apace. Twenty minutes later we're at my house, I enter and return with a carrier bag in my house but tina heads home obviously tired from the days boozing at the booth.
So its left with me, beefy and cheesy to take up the gauntlet and finish the capade we had started. Walking out towards the countryside around Ellon it was pitch black but our spirits were high and we marched forth into the unknown. Turning sharply left about 50m before the railway line starts we began to acend a long straight hill (cos Ellon's a valley you see) towards Ulaw and the fabled Tattie Mound. After about two miles of walking cheesy asks if we are ever going to make it, but little does he know how close we are.
The farm must be around 3 miles outside of Ellon and after 20 minutes of long slog up the hill we are there. Quietly and stealthily we tip-toe towards the farm as I lead the way to the riches, trying to keep as low a profile as possible to avoid a repeat of last tuesday's farce. Soon enough a few tatties become visible, then ten and then before our eyes a mountain of tatties come into view. The mecca of carbohydrates, we feverishly begin to fill the bag with tatties and our pockets. Cheesy is spotted rolling around the outside of the mount throwing tatties in the air crying "we're rich!! Filthy rich!! They're mine, all mine... the precioussss!!!"*
Realising we are pushing our luck we creep back out trying to make as little noise as possible. Once we are in the clear we burst out laughing, and cheesy announces that he plans to return in the morning to sell more on Ebay (!). Beefy tells me that he's going to post a few tatties through a certain midget's door on his way home, and I carry a sackful of back-breaking tatties all the way back 3 miles to home, where I'll then clean them up and make chips for tea. As I say goodbye to cheesy and beefy I realise that this is the first capade that I've actually brought something home to remember it by. It was silly walking 4 miles from the booth to a farm to steal potatoes and back, but if anything sticks on my mind from these holidays so far it was the sense of achievement and utter stupidity of holding a sackful of potatoes 3 miles from home with friends at half one in the morning. These memories are the stuff the summer's made of, and if anyone is up to outdo that last capade you know who to call :-)
* NB not true.
Birthday Farse
Today I was presented with a rather embarrassing situation. For today is July 3rd, and where this will have little or no significance to anyone reading this it has a lot of significance to me. Every time July 3rd comes round I have to reach into my shallow pockets and produce a tenner for my older sister Geraldine's birthday, but for the first time ever I forgot completely about it. Imagine my surprise when my dad turns round to me at the breakfast table and says "we're going into Aberdeen today to celebrate Geraldine's 20th with a meal."
My stomach hit the floor. There wasn't going to be an easy way out of this. Looking over to my sister across the table I gave her a wry smile and said "eh eh sounds great dad!" The minute I'd speed-fed myself off the table I was on the phone to my sister in Aberdeen to ask if she'd bought a card that I could scrawl my name on quickly and give her money for it.
Me: "Look Jen you gotta help me, I forgot completely about Geraldine's birthday! You got a card?"
Jenny: "You gay-face, you'd better get her a present!"
Me: "I gathered that sherlock"
Jenny: "Hmm you can sign the card if you must."
And the deal was done. So we drives to Aberdeen and we stops at the Buffet King on Union Street and we eats all we can for just ÂŁ5 per head. That spells good value for someone like me who eats a lot, and bad value for my mum who has a bowl of soup and feels bloated. The food was magnifique and dessert was even included in the all you can eat buffet, and if I was a student I'd definitely spend four hours in there with a newspaper and fill my face with food for a paltry fiver. After the meal was eaten jenny hands me the card under the table that has a long and eloquent description of her sisterly love for Geraldine. Clasping the pen she passes with it I write "and Alan xxx" at the end... I couldn't believe what a retard I looked like when Geraldine read it out!
As soon as she'd opened the presents from Jenny I declared that I was going to 'surprise' Geraldine and walked casually out of the Buffet King before melting it down Union Street the second I'd turned the corner. HMV were holding a sale so I turned into the store slightly out of breath and looked around. And there in front of my very eyes at the first store I entered was a cabinet containing "Bomberman Generations" for the GC for a lowly ÂŁ9.99. God bless loss leaders. Snatching the game that would save my skin I hurriedly queue jumped my way near the front and then blasted back up Union Street to give my sister the unwrapped game. To the untrained eye it would appear that I'd paid around ÂŁ20 for this first hand game, so she was more than chuffed with her half-assed present. She was happy, I was happy, and another disaster was overted by the gods of chance.
Later in the day I had the pleasure of watching Tim Henman bonk out in the quarter finals of Wimbledon. The guy's a lose, "championship whites" my ass- what's he ever won? Predictably the guffy English commentators spewed up pre-made sentences like "he had an excellent game but was beaten by someone who was just better on the day" and "Tim will be back next year, of that I am sure." Of course he will be, he'll be there every year until he lives up to the media's wild writings of 'Henman Hill' and 'Henmania' and makes the damned final. Reading the Independent last week (it was free in the hotel) the front of the sports supplement showed a huge picture of Tim diving for the ball; "Tim flies to Destiny" was the headline. That's exactly what I'd expect from the English, they seem to think Henman is 'something else' but until I see him win anything of note I'll always regard him as an overrated ponse.
And that brings me up to now where I'm going to go for a half hour run, see my girlfriend and then get further on in Eternal Darkness. The summer is just far too good to be true sometimes.
A Night In
Last night resumed an epic war of minds between my father and I- a war that has ravaged over years where no decisive victor has yet been gauged, but the end is tantalisingly close. For the second both my father and mother are gone together overnight it's time to crack open the bubbly and the phone book to let everyone know- Nights In At Star's are back; blasting off bigger than ever.
Dabby, Tom, Tete, Morna, Lauren, Sharon, Graeme, Louise, Kayleigh and Beefy were those who turned up while a few couldn't make it being on holiday. The challenge of the evening was to hold a decent gathering without my parents ever finding out, and it took all my previous knowledge and expertise to get this target down to the very last detail.
The masterstroke came when I blocked off the kitchen area. Without being able to access the kitchen area no drinks can be spilt on the white carpet and no food can suddenly go missing- brilliant! One up for star, I thought, as my dad searched the kitchen cupboards with an exhaustive list of contents to find everything in order. Elsewhere everyone did their part and didn't spill any drinks, make noticeable alterations to the house or mash bananas into my walls, and everyone who vomited managed to do so in a place where it'll never be found. The operation moved like a smooth criminal, and in the morning myself, morna and louise took the six bags of empties and put them in a large dumpster far from my father's prying eyes! Sure the neighbours will probably mention there were about a dozen people wandering in and out of my house with music blaring, but I'll deny it and say they're part of an elaborate government ploy to keep my parents from ever leaving the house. That'll work.
The centrepiece of the gathering- the drinking games- was a bit hit and miss, admittedly. While it gave tete, graeme and kayleigh an unfathomable 8 shots it was surprisingly lenient on lauren and myself, who took 2 and 3 shots respectively. God must have been on lauren's side as she defied the laws of physics to flick a coin between a tiny target wedged between two 8 shot targets. God must have had it in for graeme and tete- but we kind of knew that anyway- who answered to "Cunt's Law" and faced the maximum penalty of 8 shots in half an hour.
This is the part where I talk about tete's resistance to vodka. Sadly for tete he met his breaking point half way through his 8 shot penalty, but that was to be expected having drunk something like 4 or 5 alcopoofs before the drinking games. Not that throwing up a waterfall of vomit would stop the persistent tete, who did have the strength and will of mind to finish his task and then continued to drink countless alcopoofs for the duration of the night (double figures I can only imagine). This is the guy that did the poulet dance for 2 minutes, threw up, and then did it for a further 3 minutes afterall. Vomiting is no barrier to tete's drinking which has increased to insane levels I must confess. Tete is gaining a reputation for being quite a hard drinker, and last night he did himself and the vodka drinking fraternity proud with his ironman efforts.
Morna decided it would be appropriate to take the cuddly, stuffed animals from my older sister's room and place them in the garden. Completely miffed I asked why she was lugging an oversized squirrel through the corridor and outside to my garden and she told me she was "freeing the animals." Explains why morna never had a barbie when she was little.
Later, as is customary, everyone fucked off down to Jaxxxxxxxx to get food to redress the liquid:solid balance that had swung drastically towards liquid thanks to some punishing drinking games earlier. Slyly, only myself and leanne stayed at home to... umm, I think we were meant to be making pizzas or something. That's not important, what happened next is:
[Phone rings]
Me: "Yo"
Tete: "Yo Star get this" [laughs] "Dabby" [laughs more] "Ohhh... Dabby" [bursts out laughing again]
Me: "Spit it out!"
Tete: "Haha! Dabby was playing chickenelli right, at Jock's house right, and me and Beefy are driving away slowly to make him" [laughs] "make him think we're going to drive away and Jock's dad comes running about and snatches his glasses off his face and Dabby's in his house right now!"
Me: "Haha!! No way man! You don't get caught playing chickenelli! Poor bastard, being in Jock's house I mean"
The conversation continued and it wasn't until dabby returned that the full evil was revealed. Oddly this is the third time that the police have got involved during one of my gatherings; first time they complained cos of the noise level (the music could be heard outside the estate...), second time everyone seemed to be giving statements when tina got a run in with neds, and this is the third time. When they finally returned all the pizza that morna brought was gone, the music was cranked back up and the party resumed.
Nothing else completely out of the ordinary happened, except that Tina and a few neds turned up to say hi later on. Sharon said she knew those neds ten years ago, probably fucked one of them behind the sheds. They came in and I told them to go away cos I don't know them and I don't trust them, that's reasonable enough. A few hours passed and when it was time to go to bed I foresaw an imminent problem:
Tom: "Methinks I'll sleep in here tonight" [heads towards the living room where everyone else is sleeping]
But I wouldn't know what it was like to sleep near Nightmare Tom because I was wrapped up in my warm and cosy bed far, far away from his intolerable snoring :-) Aaaah...
In the morning the grand cleanup operation took place. It's imperative that everything is placed in exactly the same place as before, all glasses are clean, carpets are clean but not too clean, footsteps removed from soil in garden, vomit covered up in garden... you get the idea, being 'host' is a tiresome job especially if you're trying to keep it a secret. The only reward is when people say they've had a good time and return the favour. But sadly a lot of people don't bother, and when they do they often forget quickly your hospitality, as has been the case for me dozens of times. Fortunately, being the host I got 'host privileges.' This means complete ownership of all items left behind- to this day I now have Kayleigh's camera, Lauren's forgotten booze, Tom's hoodie, Morna's sleeping bag to name but a few items. They'll all be sold on ebay in the coming week.
Ultimately I won the battle against my dad last night- for he is still searching the house with a fine toothcomb to no avail- but the war is not over- not by a long stretch. There will be other gatherings, other covert operations that have to done precisely or all is lost. I can't do it alone though! When the time comes, as has been prophesised, I'll need you lot to be there to cause a riot, get involved with criminal behaviour and free all the captivated animals! ;-)
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