Scottish Boozing Relaunched!
Finally we've taken away the old, shitty Scottish Boozing and replaced it with a sparkling new one! This time however the site is way more comprehensive, interactive and better than before, and if you don't believe me you can check it out for yourself using the link below! If I find the time I'll write all about Beefy's drunken antics at the Moorings last night where we spent the latter part of the evening bantering with the owner, Flash, and the locals! Get in!
Scottish Boozing
Absence
Due to an unfortunate turn of events my computer is being put at a friends house in Nottingham tomorrow, so I won't be able to blog until I come home on wednesday. Even then I'll be too busy seeing Leanne, Beefy and at Morna's 18th to blog, and even if I did have the time I'd be spending it on last-minute alterations to Scottish Boozing.
If you're bored and looking for things to read the new Scottish Boozing site has heaps of new articles for you to read, with many more being saved and will be put up in the coming weeks.
When I'm in Ellon I never have any time to blog, and I don't say that as a phoney excuse. Last time I was up for a week I spent every last minute with Leanne or the lads and neglected to blog also. Like I said, Scottish Boozing isn't far off and if you're reading this you probably know me, in which case see you next week!
In An Ideal World
You know, I was going to write a powerful and moving short story of my life as it has been in the past week. It would bring audiences to their feet, citing the youthful author as the "saviour of modern Blogging" in tones not unbefitting for the announcement of a new king. Oh yes, they would immediately translate the piece into 200 different languages, I'm sure, and order it to be read at the start of each day *drifts off into a fanciful dreamworld*... streets lined with gold statues... best-seller status... compulsory reading for everyone over eight...
*Shakes head* but no! Today, instead, I'm going to moan. "Ooh how original" Jibba would cry, "a Scot moaning." Silence, you contemptible English shrew, lest my cane find your backside! There's something that needs addressing and I, godammit, am going to sort it out!
STRAY BULLETS.
It shouldn't annoy me, but it's been so saturated and overdone that if I see another James Bond leg it from trained marksmen raining a hail of bullets in his direction and surviving I swear I'll find that set and do it myself. It's bordering on the ridiculous now, the amount of times I've seen hoards of goons fire round after round of ammo and the hero emerging unscratched is countless.
Next time you watch an action film make a point of looking out for it, you'd imagine that such well-trained henchmen would be able to hit a man running from them, especially given the excessive rounds at their disposal. It's just boring, knowing that the hero can't be killed or hit despite the insurmountable odds.
"Pnnneowwww!" is the hallmark sound of a bullet ricocheting off a car, you'll know it well. How about shooting the wheels or rearranging the Hero's perfectly formed botox-face? What do you hope to gain from denting his car? It's not like increased car premiums is going to stop him from foiling your entire evil empire single-handedly, as you know is going to happen.
Bring back the days of the Western. Not only did the good guys take the occasional hit, but wildly theatrical swan-song goodbyes were never far away after the bullet had settled in nicely. That's what I want to see- Bond grasping his leg, the blood draining from his body. He rolls in agony, turns to hot-female-assistant and begins "tell Q I won't be at the staff Christmas night out", before wiping the tears from his assistants eye.
"Live and let die", he finishes, resting his dying head in her arms. After 21 long Bond films and a plethora of missed bullets, one of the henchmen finally bags himself a Bond with a well-placed bullet to the leg.
*Begins frantically typing a letter to MGM* "Dear script-writing department..."
About A Blonde
For some reason all the usual bloggers have stopped writing in the past 10 days (including me to a certain degree before you say anything), which must make you feel like the whole entire world is out to get you. But unlike the other bums who write, I have a genuine excuse! But I'll leave that for another day ;-) Use your imagination in the meanwhile.
To make sure you don't start penning a letter to your local Blogger constituent, I have taken the liberty to steal some blonde jokes from a joke website. I knew it would cheer you up, unless you're blonde... in which case you can't read anyway! Hahaha! I made that one up all by myself! :p
How to tell if your friend is blonde without looking at her hair (bear with me):
...she spent 20 minutes looking at the orange juice box because it said "concentrate".
...she put lipstick on her forehead because she wanted to make up her mind.
...she got stabbed in a shoot-out.
...she told me to meet her at the corner of "WALK" and "DONT WALK".
...she thought TuPac Shakur was a Jewish holiday.
...she tried to put M&M's in alphabetical order.
...she sent me a fax with a stamp on it.
...she tried to drown a fish.
...she thought a quarterback was a refund.
...she got locked in a grocery store and starved to death.
...if you gave her a penny for intelligence, you'd get change back.
...they had to burn the school down to get her out of third grade.
...under "education" on her job application, she put "Hooked On Phonics."
...she tripped over a cordless phone.
...she took a ruler to bed to see how long she slept.
...at the bottom of the application where it says "sign here".. she put "Sagittarius."
...she asked for a price check at the Dollar Store.
...it takes her two hours to watch 60 Minutes.
...if she spoke her mind, she'd probably be speechless.
...she studied for a blood test ...and failed.
...she thought Boyz II Men was a daycare center.
...she thought Meow Mix was a record for cats.
...she thought she needed a token to get on Soul Train.
...she sold the car for gas money.
...when she saw the "NC-17" (under 17 not admitted), she went home and got 16 friends.
...when she heard that 90% of all crimes occur around the home, she moved.
...she thinks Taco Bell is where you pay your phone bill.
...when she missed the 44 bus, she took the 22 bus twice instead.
...when she took you to the airport and saw a sign that said "Airport Left" she turned around and went home.
Things That Are Wrong With Today's Society
Me: "I just paid Ł20 for a book. Twenty-fucking-quid James!! Do you know how many nights out that is?!"
James: "[pause] One?"
Me: "Shut up. Who asked you anyway."
Cunt Of The Month
Nick The Cunt, as drawn by DabbyIt is on good authority that March's Cunt Of The Month is none other than Dabby's wannabe flat mate Nick The Cunt, a person of such monumental cunt prowess that he is effectionately known as Nick The Cunt to all who he holds dear, including his mum Moira The Cunt. Nick The Cunt, as the name suggest, is the hypothesis of cunt and has reached a chi-like level of cunthood that few aspire to and even fewer achieve. The submission for Nick The Cunt to be recognised as the world's foremost authority in being a cunt was sadly rejected by Guinness, who exclaimed in a confidential email to our legal representative Troy "how can we categorise this boy as anything other than a "cunt!" You know we can't write that!" So it is on a minor technicality that Nick is only the unofficial world authority in being a cunt, a status you can be sure of coming from both myself and Dabby's inflated knowledge of what it takes to be a Grade A cunt. Much of what we know of Nick is shrouded in mystery for his name apparently "says it all", but tales abound of his limitless ability to spread his cunt features like the quintessential vagina he represents so well. Far from Nick The Cunt to mend his unrivalled cuntish behaviour, he actively demonstrates it at every opportunity to reinforce his global cunt supremacy. It is this admirable dedication to being a cunt that has seen Nick pick up countless awards from Most Detestable Cunt, to Cunt Most Likely To Still Be A Cunt In Fifty Years Time. His father was once quoted as saying "I don't have a son" to popular lad's magazine FHM, who did an exposé on Nick The Cunt- The Cunt You Didn't Know. It's not easy winning such an accolade as Cunt Of The Month- we have screened thousands of potential applicants and from a pool of ten managed to narrow the list down to just three. However it was Nick's uncanny resemblance to a cunt that won over the hearts of our judges, who said they "could almost smell the vaginal fluid" from the submitted picture. He scored a perfect 10 in all but one category, the "International Cunt" category, for Nick The Cunt's infamous mug was unrecognisable to our Japanese correspondent. Rumours persist that Nick's "World's Biggest Cunt Tour" is headed to Asia, where the exposure will almost certainly affirm his status in the Cunt Hall Of Fame. Nick The Cunt is a prominent and powerful member of the Living Cunt's Society, a small group who gather bi-annually to discuss matters of the cunt variety. He takes his position of CEO very seriously, the workload he puts into the limited company is remarkable and the brand are now thinking of branching out into other markets. The slogan "once a cunt, always a cunt" is pending acceptance from the registry office, although he assured financial magazine Forbes the procedure is "merely a formality." To conclude Nick The Cunt is certainly the biggest cunt of our time, if not of all time. He emits an aura of cuntness that engulfs the room and announces its presence loud and proud, with all his actions being clearly defined as "that of a cunt" by the hundreds of people who voted for Nick The Cunt. This trophy will surely gather dust on his mantelpiece alongside the other hundreds of similar awards he has accumulated, but nonetheless Nick The Cunt remains the very pinnacle of being a cunt and we are no less proud to have him as our Cunt Of March.
Lecture Characters
By now you should all have settled into your course sufficiently to have made new friends and have a rough idea of who most people are on your course. If, however, you're a wuss like the Hattoners who all went to Glasgow all your friends will already be on your course, in which case this blog might not be so applicable to you.
What I'm getting at is by semester two you should be familiar with everyone who graces the lecture hall with their presence, and will likely have your very own mental list of the standout 'characters' on your course. I would like to take this opportunity to divulge the characters on my course:
Firstly, and to me the most prominent member on my course and always makes me chuckle, is weird always-late toastie loving lady. The name pretty much says it all; by some bizarre and illogical fate, weird always-late toastie loving lady is destined to enter the lecture almost precisely when she shouldn't. For example, the lecturer will ask rhetorically "... and who here amongst us can dispute his findings?", pausing for dramatic tension. The hall is shrouded in silence as the lecturer gathers his breath and opens his mouth to move onto the next crucial slide. It's at this most delicate of moments that the tubby, bumbling weird always-late toastie loving lady makes her grand entrance. Sheepishly pressing the door open, she stands in the corner, scanning the hall for her cohorts who are always punctual, in stark contrast to liability in the corner over there. Of course the lecturer doesn't want to continue until she crosses his path as she invariably has to; but she refuses to move until she spies her friends and then makes her way towards them. It cracks me up every time.
Weird always-late toastie loving lady is branded so because during one of our modules we had to give a talk on something with an ergonomic flaw. Instead of taking the routine 2-3 minutes that had been assigned to us all, weird always-late toastie loving lady took nigh on ten minutes to explain the intricate pros and cons of her trusty toastie-forming machine. I looked over at the lecturer who was trying hard to withhold her grin, in vain, who clearly felt awkward having to tell her to stop considering how long she'd spent on the slides. A collective groan reverberated around the room as she took her 15-point plus slide down to replace it with another exhaustive list of deficiencies inherent in her faithful toastie maker. She loved that toastie maker like it was a blood relative, I'm sure it's what makes her late for every lecture.
Next is the anally well-prepared Normans second from the front . This small tribe of nerds actually print out every single lecture and take notes beside the printouts. Fair dues, less work- but who the fuck is so meticulously prepared for a bloody lecture?! The average student is lucky if he can get out of bed for the bloody thing, let along take the laborious walk to the Pilkington library each morning to make copies of the lecture. In true Christie style, they arrange an assortment of pencils and pens around the desk perpendicular to magnetic North and in colour order according to the visible light spectrum. They scrawl every last word the lecturer says, and if any detail is missed a quick consultation with the adjacent Norman will reveal the exam-critical word. They don't harm anyone, but their mere presence sends chills down the average-working student like I who has to rely on substandard notes to get through the course. The Normans also meet regularly in the Human Sciences common room to compare notes and discuss the day's lecture.
I don't know if this is common for all courses or what, but certainly on mine there is no shortage of the inhumanly early pensioners at the very front. Perhaps it's a fear of fast walking students, but the pensioners are always a good ten to fifteen minutes early for every single lecture, even if they're back-to-back (lol). This scary dedication to being punctual stems, I suspect, from a morbid fear of not sitting at the front. Their age-battered eyes cannot hope to adjust to the screen from any distance further than the very front, and it's become the norm for the group of six to eight to occupy the front row with an aggressive display of perceived 'ownership'. The pensioners are also considerably too slow to jot down the lecturers words, and can often be heard mumbling complaints about the speed of speech these days and the price of cottage cheese.
Then there is the obnoxiously loud attention seeker, the sole person not to have left the vestiges of youth behind in high school. I'm all for having the odd joke here or there, but the obnoxiously loud attention seeker is a class stereotype not welcome at university- college is there for a reason, you dunce. He's often heard 'whispering' curiously loud smart-ass comments at the back, like "yeah, why doesn't the lecturer do the experiment!" Unfortunately for him all his goons have been diverted to their proper course in college, and as a consequence no one laughs or even reacts to what he says. It's amazing what happens when you take the 'school bully' stereotype out of education. But he gets his say on a good day, neglecting to raise his hand as is oh-so-common amongst these types and blurting out the occasional quip, like "that's not what mom would say!" in a water-boy styled voice. His voice, needless to say, is brash and loud all the while, being a right sore one on the ears even if you, like me, happen to place yourself as far away from him as possible.
Finally, I'm sure you're all familiar with the class hotty, or in psychology's case, the class hotties. It was a real novelty having the Frost twins at Butler, but to have them on your course... well, fate does deal a cruel hand to some (read it and weep Engineers!). Notorious pair in the field of running, I guess I get an unusual amount of exposure to them due to place, course and hobby. I'm sure you do have some hot people on your course, but I'm left with the question... are there two of them?
Profound Poetry
While reading what I put,
you are pissing on your foot.A piece of somewhat profound and deeply meaningful poetry I read the other day, so good that even the bard himself, Rabbie Burns, would have to admit that it was a work of sheer brilliance. Believe it or not I was able to read the "poem" without, as the sad little graffiti artist forecast, urinating on any part of my body.
Random Thoughts
* There are things we all do during a regular day that we don't really think about, but today I got thinking about something that happens to me all the time but I never spend any thought on. You know when you're out shopping, say for groceries like I was today, and the amount ends up just below a round number (as it invariable always does)? Nothing these days costs Ł30, it'll be Ł29.99 to show just how low the price is, even chocolate bars are 29p which to me is ridiculous. But anyway, as I looked up at the amount owed it came (rather spookily) to Ł3.97.
I handed over four Ł1 coins, and waited. Yes- I could have left right there and then, but no, I waited approximately ten valuable Earth seconds to receive the 3p I was owed. All throughout these ten seconds I felt like an absolute knob, the very principle of holding the line for a measly 3p is something that that would originate from the Goldie school of money saving ideas. But at the same time, I felt like a knob contemplating saying "keep the change" to the checkout assistant to save him having to fish out the coins with his stubby fingers. It's such a cliche, you only do that if the guy's poor and he's about to hand you over a twenty pound note or something. I realised I was in a no win situation, that this minor transaction would never result in me coming out feeling the better for it.
What can you buy for 3p anyway? It's destination was soon to be the nearby drain, because if I was to keep even 10p worth of coppers (which could at least buy something) I'd have a wallet looking more like a puffer fish than the sleek flatfish it currently is. Coppers are surely the most insulting tender ever created, being a nuisance both in acceptance and spending potential.
This leads me to the question: why have such small change like 1p and 2p coins? They're bulky, ugly, unnecessary and virtually useless in today's economy, and if it wasn't for the copper I wouldn't have to feel unavoidably like a pratt every time I go to the supermarket.
* Many a lunch time was spent discussing words that 'annoy' you. I'm not talking about words like 'racist' or 'Jew', just words that grate at you every time they're spoken. Words that are harsh off the tongue or just sound ridiculous. Previous champions have included "albatross", "snog" and "titillation" amongst other equally ingratiating entries. I have a brand new annoyance that I'm sure you will all agree with:
"Bot." Before you go jumping to conclusions, I'm not talking about the slang for "robot" here, but the word that refers to a man or womans arse. The News of the World recently had a feature on Kylie Minogue and under one of the pictures ran the caption: "Kylie's bot looks great in leather." To my horror, I later read in a separate newspaper the crass term "botty" used in a similar context.
Hello? "Botty"? I wasn't reading the Beano either, is "botty" supposed to be erotic or something? The answer is clearly no, and to me detracts from one of the finest parts of the female form. "Botty" I mean, you can't write this stuff. I can't get over it, "Kylie's bot"... no, it's just wrong. Leave it out.
* I wanted to make a quick note at how shameful Nintendo have become. Once gaming giants, they are now a cowardly third behind Microsoft and Sony, and with their newfound lack of resources seems to be a newfound lack of ethics.
We all know they've squeezed the Pokemon franchise dry, but if the loyal Nintendo zealot fanboys thought Nintendo were going to listen and stop rehashing old ideas they were surely mistaken. Pokemon red, blue, green and yellow are all the same game, as are gold, silver and crystal. The latest games- ruby and sapphire- are out on GBA. So what next for Nintendo? Make a supplement to ruby and sapphire? Done that. Now what?
Get this- and it makes me incredulous to say it- they have "updated" (I use the term VERY loosely) Pokemon red and blue to give Pokemon fire red and leaf green... on the GBA. Yes, this ten year old game is being remade AGAIN. How... how many times can they get away with this? When will little Johnny's parents realise this is the same game they bought their kid for Christmas '96?
I can't believe it. They can't get away with this. Someone has to stand up and say enough is enough, because leeches Nintendo are feeding off the blood of the ignorant well-meaning parent and sucking the life out of the good name of Nintendo.
If you're reading this, Mr Nintendo employee- kill yourself right now. Leave, go on, I can't even look at you. Just go now, you've done enough damage as it is.
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