Amongst the amazing music on offer, it boasts the two following masterpieces:
I own this and you don't, that makes me better than you.
Wednesday 19 October 2011
It's all mine!!!
Finally after months of waiting, I get this beauty in my claws, it only cost me a dearly cherished childhood heirloom in exchange. Logan Josh doesn't know what he has given up:
Amongst the amazing music on offer, it boasts the two following masterpieces:
I own this and you don't, that makes me better than you.
Amongst the amazing music on offer, it boasts the two following masterpieces:
I own this and you don't, that makes me better than you.
Saturday 15 October 2011
I am the God of War
Before we get into the meat of this post, enjoy the horses doovers, if you will. It's a video I made for Abwehrschlacht's song 'Die Sturmtruppen':
And that cheeky cunt Pledge Manners has been at it again, reviewing this product:
By now, you know the drill, He-Who-Cannot-Be-Named sends me a text, I reply in kind, then write them out here for you to crow at:
Him: Yesterday i saw a student walking down the street playing a harmonica. A fucking harmonica. Today i saw him doing it again. If i see him a third time i may lose control
Me: I can't believe you held your temper in the first place. I would have stabbed it with a breadknife and dumped the body in some woods in staffordshire.
Him: How easy do you think it is to beat someone to death with a mouth organ? I might try that instead. I'm guessing it would take some time.
Me: You could speed up the process by selotaping the mouth organ to a breadknife then stabbing it and dumping the body in some woods in staffordshire.
Him: Man, you're just the craziest!!
Me: I went to a psychotherapist today. He was dutch. What do you think of that?
Him: Why did you want to see a psychotherapist? Especially a dutch one?
Me: Physio Dickhead.
Him: Your text said psychotherapist, check your outbox. Maybe you are going crazy. Maybe your subconscious is trying to tell you something.
Me: Oh yeah. Lol. Freudian slip. I prolly need one of those as well. My back is fucked. He touched me in my privates. Dutch bastard.
Him: Well he's foreign, maybe when you said 'my back hurts' he thought you said 'please finger fuck my penis'. You should get a book called 'treat your own back'. I got it when i fucked my back a few years ago. It's really good.
Me: You're not coming anywhere near me with your 'healing hands' you fucking pervert.
Him: I wouldn't touch you if i were wearing gloves and you were drowning in a tub of bleach. But check that book out, it's good.
Me: Will do. Dutch pervert.
Him: It's cultural, touching someones privates is like shaking hands to the dutch. I should know, i lived there for three months. They were touching my privates all the time. Sometimes they tied me up too, or left me gagged in a cellar for days. They only do that when you get quite close to the family though.
Me: Sounds like you got TOO close.
And that cheeky cunt Pledge Manners has been at it again, reviewing this product:
By now, you know the drill, He-Who-Cannot-Be-Named sends me a text, I reply in kind, then write them out here for you to crow at:
Him: Yesterday i saw a student walking down the street playing a harmonica. A fucking harmonica. Today i saw him doing it again. If i see him a third time i may lose control
Me: I can't believe you held your temper in the first place. I would have stabbed it with a breadknife and dumped the body in some woods in staffordshire.
Him: How easy do you think it is to beat someone to death with a mouth organ? I might try that instead. I'm guessing it would take some time.
Me: You could speed up the process by selotaping the mouth organ to a breadknife then stabbing it and dumping the body in some woods in staffordshire.
Him: Man, you're just the craziest!!
Me: I went to a psychotherapist today. He was dutch. What do you think of that?
Him: Why did you want to see a psychotherapist? Especially a dutch one?
Me: Physio Dickhead.
Him: Your text said psychotherapist, check your outbox. Maybe you are going crazy. Maybe your subconscious is trying to tell you something.
Me: Oh yeah. Lol. Freudian slip. I prolly need one of those as well. My back is fucked. He touched me in my privates. Dutch bastard.
Him: Well he's foreign, maybe when you said 'my back hurts' he thought you said 'please finger fuck my penis'. You should get a book called 'treat your own back'. I got it when i fucked my back a few years ago. It's really good.
Me: You're not coming anywhere near me with your 'healing hands' you fucking pervert.
Him: I wouldn't touch you if i were wearing gloves and you were drowning in a tub of bleach. But check that book out, it's good.
Me: Will do. Dutch pervert.
Him: It's cultural, touching someones privates is like shaking hands to the dutch. I should know, i lived there for three months. They were touching my privates all the time. Sometimes they tied me up too, or left me gagged in a cellar for days. They only do that when you get quite close to the family though.
Me: Sounds like you got TOO close.
As wolves amongst sheep we have wandered...
Thursday 13 October 2011
I don't make the rules
I went to see A Clockwork Orange on Monday night. I told Nathan about it last night at the quiz and he gave me a vast amount of abuse for forgetting to tell him I was going. That'll teach him to try poison me at his barbecue. Aaaaaaanyway, I figured that the viewing might be sold out by the time I got down there, so I decided to book tickets online. It's showing as part of Mark Kermode's curated Origins series and was only shown on one night and I guessed demand might be high. On the City Screen's website you can actually choose your tickets as you book them so you can get the best in the house. I found a seat that was in the middle of the row and was far away from every other taken seat. This particular seat would have at least two seats around me of space and I assumed since I'd bought the ticket quite late on I would have the area to myself. Bliss. I wandered my merry way down through town clutching my home printed ticket (so I didn't have to wait in line) whilst listening to GG Allin on my MP3 Player just to get me in the mood for some of the old ultra violence and in out, in out.
I walked into the theatre about ten minutes before the show and found my way to the row I'd booked my seat on. I noticed a long haired youth sitting alone about halfway down the row. I thought 'I hope that prick isn't sitting in my seat.' I didn't want to start an altercation about who was sat in who's seat, but as I counted the seats it became more and more apparent that he was sat in the correct seat. His seat was correct and mine was right next to his. I took my seat after checking about five times that I was unfortunately correct and what followed was the most uncomfortable ten minutes of my life as I sat next to a complete stranger in a massive cinema that was practically empty. I could feel him shuffling about in his seat as much as I was and occasionally came the true horror that occurs when our hands lightly brushed one another's on the hand rest. They always do this at the City Screen, if you buy a single ticket they fill up the seats around you with other single ticket purchasers. It's as though the staff think they are doing you a favour by introducing you to a stranger who likes similar films. You've already got something to talk about and can see where it goes from there. It's like a dating service that you have no input in at all. I wouldn't mind, but rather than a hottie, I always end up sat next to some fucking stinking hippy student wanker. True story.
I thought I'd better dress up for the occasion. I wasn't the only one...
I walked into the theatre about ten minutes before the show and found my way to the row I'd booked my seat on. I noticed a long haired youth sitting alone about halfway down the row. I thought 'I hope that prick isn't sitting in my seat.' I didn't want to start an altercation about who was sat in who's seat, but as I counted the seats it became more and more apparent that he was sat in the correct seat. His seat was correct and mine was right next to his. I took my seat after checking about five times that I was unfortunately correct and what followed was the most uncomfortable ten minutes of my life as I sat next to a complete stranger in a massive cinema that was practically empty. I could feel him shuffling about in his seat as much as I was and occasionally came the true horror that occurs when our hands lightly brushed one another's on the hand rest. They always do this at the City Screen, if you buy a single ticket they fill up the seats around you with other single ticket purchasers. It's as though the staff think they are doing you a favour by introducing you to a stranger who likes similar films. You've already got something to talk about and can see where it goes from there. It's like a dating service that you have no input in at all. I wouldn't mind, but rather than a hottie, I always end up sat next to some fucking stinking hippy student wanker. True story.
Right, where's my seat... Oh fuck...
Tuesday 4 October 2011
On Martson Moor Baht'at
The esteemed Mr McKibbin and He-Who-Cannot-Be-Named rolled into town this weekend, demanding that they stay at my house. What could I do to refuse? HWCBN gave me such a thrashing that I lost consciousness three times and the sight in my right eye due to the crushing of my orbit as the blows rained down on me from his billy club. When I finally came round the two were ensconced on my sofa braying at my predilection like crows. It will take weeks to remove the blood from the carpet. The reason they were in town was because Pragya was having the final of three marriages, all to the same bloke, go figure. Three marriages and I had not been invited to a single one. Not only that, but I was expected to put up these two, who had been invited. Talk about rubbing my face in it. What am I? A fucking hotel? I took umbrage at this turn up of events and went to Nathan's housewarming party instead. But before I did, the three of us went out for a drive at HWCBN's insistence. He broke my ulna as a warning. First stop was to Marston Moor to have a good look at where King Cromwell had smashed the Frenchies in 1389 or something, then it was off to Spofforth Castle to have a good look at some ruins where King Cromwell had smashed the Frenchies in 1389 or something. Here are two photos taken by the amazing talents of McKibbin:
As I said, that evening I took myself off to Nathan's housewarming party where he had dug a ten foot deep fire pit and stuffed an entire reindeer down there to cook. Later all Hell broke loose involving blue cheese. The less said about that incident, the better. In other news, I have mostly been hopping back and forth between sites and have spent a bit of time at Hes East helping Becky finish off the Roman well she's been hacking out. I present a series of photos for your delight and to give you some idea of the conditions we have to work in:
Marston Moor
Me
As I said, that evening I took myself off to Nathan's housewarming party where he had dug a ten foot deep fire pit and stuffed an entire reindeer down there to cook. Later all Hell broke loose involving blue cheese. The less said about that incident, the better. In other news, I have mostly been hopping back and forth between sites and have spent a bit of time at Hes East helping Becky finish off the Roman well she's been hacking out. I present a series of photos for your delight and to give you some idea of the conditions we have to work in:
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
