Gordon Brown Ain't Got Nothin' On The Sun.

In a way, I feel sorry for the man. He just sulks around, giving the world a light drenching of piss, while everyone INSISTS that they stick it to him. I have no clue what ‘sticking it’ means, but if I was gently pissing on other’s property, and a horde of angry people ran up to me yelling in my face that they were going to ‘stick it to me’, I would be fucking terrified. Everyone’s far too quick to ‘stick it’ to people that are making them pay taxes for things that they themselves frequently use. But what if I was to tell you, that big men in suits with bladder problems AREN’T the people you should be sticking it to? That they aren’t actually the people that run this country. At all. What if I was to tell you that the government didn’t run the country, but actually it was something much darker, much more mysterious, something much more conspiracy based. Something that frequently tells you to stick it to the man. Yes, that’s right; the man is actually…THE MEDIA.

If you hadn’t figured it out on your own, then it’s probably because everyone tells you that the government runs the country, and you listen to them like the moron you are. Sure, the government makes the rules, but what do they make the rules based on? The people’s opinion obviously (in this country anyway), but what do the people’s opinion pretty much consist of? The media’s opinion. Think about it, the media could convince anyone of anything, they say an earthquake in Haiti happens, EVERYONE believes it (I’m not saying it didn’t happen, but if it didn’t, how would we know?), they say some stupid bitch you don’t know but should care about for unexplained reasons got really drunk and did something stupid, then not only do you believe them, but you CARE. The media points everyone in the ‘right’ direction and they all blindly follow. It’s close to mind control, thanks to everyone being unbelievably gullible.

See, my dream is where they cut all that artsy, colourful screwing with your mind shit, and just simply present you with some cold hard facts on a piece of paper, all written in New Times Roman, so you can properly compare products, make a judgment, and not have some bellend staring at you through a crystal ball laughing his tiny arse off as you do exactly as he says. In a completely opposite, worst case scenario, the media could be entirely be bought by one man. The only reason the mind control hasn’t made us into an army of magazine-reading twats is that almost everything in the media is done by different people, and usually they have contrasting views, and since that confuses the fuck out of us, we only stick to one item of each type (Only reading The Sun for instance. If you’re an idiot). But if these contrasting views were dissolved, and left us with ONE newspaper, ONE celebrity, ONE television program, then let’s face it, we’d be screwed.

I just hope an extremist muslim buys it, then at least we’d have half the population blown to shreds. (Another one of my dreams).

Ode To Mile High Club On Veteran Difficulty

It was one fateful night last summer,
as I was browsing my achievements,
I thought, yae, why am I without this last G?
My fatter accomplice could do it, CoD4 addict is he,
And he is surely stupider than me.

I started at the hour of 10 that night, 
Airplane reference I heard,
I jumped from the hole made in roof,
And began with all my might.

Oh sweet man who you see at the start,
Who wonders from the toilet,
What life did thee aspire to,
No matter, there's now a knife in your heart.

Yae Captain Price,
shit character as you are,
You say 'tango down in section one alpha',
I know, fuck dammit, for I his killer are.

But then it seemed to me, a quick 2 hours later,
Why do I reach my end so commonly?
Why this so difficult be?
I shall be so angry I... shall... cause a crater?

Another 3 hours, yae, they passed,
My eyes were getting droopy, 
How could something be this hard,
I almost can't be arsed.

But nay, I must continue!
For I am better than they,
Who leave what's hard and go to MP,
I will do it, fuck you!

Another 2 hours, came and went,
Reinvigorated by caffeine,
I reached the hostage one time,
But got his brains all on the cement.

And there the sun be now,
Curling over the horizon,
Light streamed into my room like fire,
The sweat was on my brow.

The clock hit 7.am at last,
And things were getting desperate,
I switched the pistol for the P90,
And began my final charge.

I now began to grin a smirk,Of course! This works! I said, 
Get to the trigger point, AI move forward,
To do all your dirty work.

Half 7 it was now, 
And I was feeling the success,
True veterans go for headshots? 
Ok then, aim and POW!

Finally! It was done,
My rejoice could be heard for miles.
I rang my associates, forgetting the time,
And surely I pleased none.

But now it has been finished,
And the achievement on my list,
Modern Warfare 2 campaign it is now?
My confidence is not diminished.

Requiem For Inter-Galactic Lovin'

Oh, as I walked those badly decorated and slightly bloody hallways,
I heard a banging noise,
Feeling a solemn patch of lump in the bottom of my pantaloons,
I did venture toward it,
To see a monstrous shape much like the bastards I dismembered previously
I raised my generic space tool,
Which doubled as an alien killing machine at the thing,
And I pulled the trigger, but no, Isaac would not shoot the thing in the shadow, and I doth not know why.

I tried many a time, day and night, month and year, despite Deadspace only arriving today,
But yet, no success became onto me.
Isaac, the bell end, would not shoot him, beseeching to me not a reason.
Why, oh why Isaac, must you torture me so?
I only wished to survive the nightmarish campaign with clean pantaloons and a fresh look on life,
But yet you insist to not shoot the thing making a banging noise against the wall.
What have I done to thee, to make thee so wrathful and hatred of plenty upon me?
But then, a thought came to me, the thing making a banging noise, it has not tried to place it’s claws around my face, or suck on my neck, so maybe it is hibernating?

Many a thought crossed my mind,
All of which equally logical and likely.
Do huge aliens with claws masturbate,
and if so, why would it do so in my prescence?
If huge aliens with claws masturbate,
Why would they do it up against the wall?

Do walls turn them on?

If huge aliens with claws masturbate,
Where is their penis located?
So many questions, so little answers,
But most of them consisting of masturbation.

The banging started getting faster and faster,
And the lump in my pantaloons now turned to my front side,
Maybe inter-species love is how it was meant to be?
Maybe me and huge aliens with claws’ love was meant to be free?
Oh how I longed to be with that alien, banging against that wall.
As I moved closer, inch by inch, to that gently rocking alien with claws,
I could feel the love springing forth, bringing us together for eternity,
Forever to be, huge alien with claws and me.

But then as I finally drew near to the alien, I was shocked, horrified, mortified, adjectivied,
To realize that not only did I not know what the sprint button was,
But to realize that it was not an alien. BUT A MAN.
The urge to take a cold shower took over as I stared the man in the face as he rocked back and forth,
Smacking his head against the wall.
Oh, forgive me would be alien, I was young, I was angry, and so,
I willed his head to explode, so that the gods may take his non-masturbating-alien soul away,
And then, with a bang, it did.

Also it turned out he was totally mutilated.

What Do You Mean Facebook Doesn't Work If I Have No Friends?

Facebook will, and probably already has, consumed us all. You can say I’m wrong all you want, but deep down, you know it. There is not ANYONE that doesn’t know somebody with Facebook, at the very least. Men no longer ask women whose bean field they want to plough for their number, but for their full name instead. We no longer have to go outside to experience the full idiocy of mankind, but can easily do so by staring numbly at a screen. Instead of kicking people’s shins (A common hobby), we give them a virtual poke (Which is sadly also a common hobby). And I for one, will not stand by as our generation becomes desk-dwelling, screen staring, internet enthusiasts. That’s my job.

I’m fed up with going on Facebook, thinking something interesting somewhere might of happened, but to my dismay/sick twisted glee, no one has anything going on in their life that any other sane person could care about. According to Facebook anyway. I noticed a while ago the huge joining group or becoming a fan trend that’s going on, and that’s when I realized that all my friends have an IQ or mental age of 5. Oh are you part of the group ‘I wish every time someone retarded was born I got a nickel’? And you’re a fan of ‘Having your eyes stabbed out because you truly deserve it’? Well guess what? I’m fan of ‘EVERY FAN AND GROUP MEMBER IS A PRETENTIOUS CUNT’. I despise every moment of intelligence destroying ‘facebooking’ (yes, it’s become a verb), and yet, I can’t bring myself to delete my own. It’s actually become MORE than socially unacceptable to remove yourself from Facebook’s presence. It’s as if the Facebook police will send me to their Facebook-esque rehab center for Facebook ne’er-do-wellers. A magical place where you learn to truly love and appreciate the miracle that is Facebook/get force-fed metaphorical bollocks. You know what scares me? That’ll probably happen (the rehab center, not me being force-fed testicles).

Let’s say tomorrow the owners of Facebook get bored of their multi-million corporation and think ‘Ya know what, why don’t we just take over the world in an evil and malicious fashion?’ As the other board members ponder this, nodding their heads dully and stroking their gold encrusted goatees, they come to a unanimous decision that yes, the company would indeed do better if it owned the whole world. So they post a notification on Facebook to everyone saying ‘If you become our loyal obedient slaves for the rest of eternity, we won’t make you pay for our over-rated service’. And while everyone’s thinking ‘WHAT? THAT’S IT? THAT’S ALL I HAVE TO DO?!’ the corporation (A.K.A The League Of Extraordinary Bell-Ends) becomes very happy in knowing they now have everyone that can afford a computer/ is significant through their eyes as their own slaves.

So we’re all screwed right? WRONG. Suddenly, Tom charges into the room with all his impossible might. Stop pretending you don’t remember Tom, you do. Tom, the Myspace man. He’s come to seek revenge on Facebook for stealing literally everyone, which had thusly resulted in him becoming a shriveled old man without any Myspace friends to stalk. Damn how I miss seeing his face on my friends list. You will be in my Top Friends forever Tom, that’s a promise. Anyway, in the true superhero fashion he beats up the bad guys (who we have now shortened to L.E.B.)and has a glorious victory. Until he realizes that assault is actually a crime and is thrown in jail, thusly ending Myspace forever.

Okay no, wait, we’re all screwed.

Blog Wars!

This sounds like a stupidly big deal over nothing, but I'm beginning to believe Tumblr is going to be the death of blogging. Because it's connected to Facebook, I'm constantly getting updates about stuff people are posting on their Tumblr blogs. This didn't start off as bad because people used to actually blog; they would write about something and express their feelings on it. Yeah, their opinions mean nothing just like everyone else, but it was still readable and did actually do what it said on the cyber-tin. But I've noticed that as months pass it's degraded, as if the joint creativity muscles of the Tumblr world are running out of steam, and it's become nothing more than posting a picture and a quote, or sometimes even less.

What's worse is that the picture and quote or line is usually even less meaningful than the dragged out, 'life lessons' ones, and it's usually just, for example, a picture of a shit band and a line underneath saying 'I love these guys'. Oh, fantastic. Well it's great to keep up with your social tornado of a life. You don't actually have anything relatively interesting to say despite your shitty 'about me' section saying 'I LUV 2 BE DIFFERENT, I'M A GREAT AWESOME HAPPY PERSON, I LOVE LIFE, I'M MEGA EXCITING'? It's just become a pretentious attempt at being either 'deep' or 'totally out there in the internet' by the same old Mac-using, Ting-Tings-listening bellend.

It's simply not blogging. It's microblogging. Go back to shitty old Twitter. Blogspot, even if it is some aesthetics-obsessed annoying-accented girl like http://www.euchantetv.blogspot.com/ for example, at least she's fucking writing SOMETHING about what she's interested in, instead of just a picture. If you're going to blog, do it right. 

America's Next Top Bellend

Now just ten minutes ago I was browsin' the new material from Pruane2Forever - praise be to him, for he curates the shiny black box at the centre of the internet - and his newest video involves him complaining about one Justin Bieber: apparently some whiny, irritating kid who has a music video. I'd never actually heard about him, but just type 'j' into the Youtube search bar and his video 'One Time' is the first to come up. Watching it, I could barely believe my eyes. America, I applaud thee, you have done it again. You've once again shat out another waste of blood and organs with a proposed veneer of 'talent', where in fact he's some pampered middle  class swaggering cunt who acts in his video as if he knew Usher as a 'homie'. 

He spends the whole video 'partying' with 'chicks' - kudos if you notice they're drinking soft drinks - and throwing embarrassing hand signals in an attempt at being gangsta, but instead looking like what Eminem would have been if he was brought up in Eaton. He seems to have some attraction to some hideous open-mouthed dribbling whale-rodent, at whom I was simply begging for Chad Warden to shout 'MEXICAN ASS NIGGA', until she looks at her Baby-G watch (she's stuck in the 90s too) and has to leave, and he's all :(. His sadness brings him to violently carve the words 'Waan Taaaaam' into your brain with the rusty scalpel that is his voice, as if the words actually have any relevance to his feelings. Maybe he should respond more to his early feelings about his actual sexuality.

Strangely enough, 'One Time' is an incredibly suiting song title, as indeed this WILL be the 'One Time' he is ever going to get anywhere. Does he genuinely think that just because he has a ponsey cute face that 13 year old Jonas Brothers fangirls can drool over he will actually get anywhere? This is the Western music industry. If you're mainstream, it doesn't matter if you're good or not, in fact most of the time it's the shit ones that actually make it somewhere. I can only hope his dimwitted producers decide to leave him on the roadside of the highway sooner than later.