Loss-Of-Dignity Pie, My Favourite

America, to be frank, is shit. Full of impossibly misguided patriotism, inter-bred rednecks, and, worst of all, fat people. I’ve been there a total of 3 times (all of which have been to Florida, so this may be a wee bit biased) and all 3 times I’ve been surrounded by fat people. I’m not talking slightly round on the edges fat, I’m talking ‘you feel over-encumbered by just looking at them’ fat. Obviously at Florida my ‘adventures’ took me to Disney World, and thusly, Sea World. On one particular roller-coaster known as Kraken, a lady got on (well, when I say ‘lady’ I mean more like monster from the deep, by which I mean she was FUCKING FAT) She tried to get into a normal seat, and as you guessed, she didn’t fit. So she (from now on to be referred to as ‘it’) was designated the mega fat seat. This is basically 2 seats glued together, and oozed degradation. It didn’t fit. It took 2 men trying to force it into the seat, using every tactic but the ol’ crowbar and butter, to ‘get it in’. After the eternal struggle, they realized they couldn’t get the safety lock down, and had to ask it to leave. The roller-coaster probably wouldn’t have gotten very far with it onboard anyway.

Now let’s get one thing straight. ‘big-boned’ does NOT exist. I swear if I have to hear ONE more excuse from a fat person I’m going to get stabby. What makes it worse is how you never hear them say ‘oh I’m fat because…’ it’s always ‘I’m not fat, I’m…’ yes, that’s right, they all STRAIGHT UP DENY IT. You could go to the people in Florida, who’re confined to a wheelchair because they’re too goddamn fat to walk (I’m not even kidding you), and ask them why they’re fat, and I guarantee you, they’d either just claim they’re ‘disabled’, or gorge on tub after tub of ice cream while tears of boiling fat roll down their disturbingly greasy faces. I don’t know if there’s fat-man syndrome, but if there is it probably consists of ridiculously huge mood-swings. They’re like huge bladders of rampant emotions, ready to piss on anyone who does next to nothing, while the people who constantly mock them remain perfectly dry.

Not only that, but to add insult to one hell of an injury, they demand to have equal rights to a man that doesn’t weigh half a tonne and consume half the world’s food recourse single-handedly. They think we should replace all stairs with lifts or ramps, or that we should all respect their feelings, or that we should present to them the food from the hands of a starving African family, so they can absorb it into their huge fat-swelling body, FOR NO APPARENT REASON. I, for one, will not stand to the nonsensical ideal that someone primarily composed of food can equate to common man, and so I say nay, nay to equal rights to ‘fat’ men, and nay to their sheer existence. Something I intend to end with my elaborately shit yet somehow brilliant (although not really) plan.

Now obviously with fat people eating a lot, they need to shit a lot, right? Well we shall make this their downfall. What we do first, is we ban private toilets (much to my dismay) and make public toilets the only ones available. Now, make REALLY thin cubicles to the point where fat people can’t actually get in them, and then make a really wide cubicle to the point where only a fat man would even dare go near it. This is where it gets deviously clever you see, we spray all the toilet seats of the wide cubicles with fucking BUM GERMS. As we all know, bum germs are a deadly disease that spreads through contact of the bum, and then proceeds to inject fat cells with tiny explosives. After a week, these explode, making anyone with bum germs explode with them. When fat people start exploding on the street, yes, a fair few people may die from bits of KFC shrapnel (dangerous stuff), but they will be remembered forever, for their magnificent sacrifice. Unlike fat people.

'MicroHard'- Not So Innocent Now Are You?

I’ll admit it; I’m somewhat of a self-proclaimed Xbox fan-boy, despite my absolute hatred for the phrase. I spent most of my indescribably drab childhood on the PS2, firmly believing the Xbox was balderdash, had NO good games, and people bought it entirely because it was called the Xbox (if you’ve grown accustomed to the word, look at it more carefully), and I still believe that to this day. However when EVERYONE bought a 360 when the PS3 hadn’t even been released, I figured it was time to let go of my Sony roots and head for something more…wholesome. Which I honestly have been thinking it was for a long time now. (Before I jump aboard the ‘But…’-wagon that you know I’m about to, let me just point something out. I do NOT hate PS3s. I feel the games on it aren’t leaned towards my tastes and that I don’t have enough spare money to buy the console unfortunately. ) BUT…

Microsoft has turned pure evil. Either that or I’ve paid them enough tax (yes, child tax) to keep them off my oh-so sweaty back. The fact that they’re money loving shit-stalkers has been sneaking up on me like a steroid-addicted ninja recently, but it really occurred to me the other day how malevolent they are, when I was fiddling with my 360 profile (it was one hell of an exciting afternoon) and I tried to change my motto to ‘Arsetrolleys & Twatnuggets’. Apparently, not only am I not allowed to have that long a motto, but the word ‘twat’ has become illegal in the virtual world. So, strike one, Microsoft has taken my free speech. Again. After then changing my motto to ‘Coques & Arsetrolleys’ and luckily saving the devastation of the minds of children worldwide, I went on the game ‘Mass Effect 2’, which anyone who’s paid attention to gaming at all will of heard of (my apologies to those that haven’t paid attention). Upon entering the main menu, it starts saying to me ‘There’s new content available! Get this really awesome suit of AMAZING FUCKING KICK ASS ARMOUR, OTHERWISE THE GAME ISN’T REALLY WORTH PLAYING’. So after looking at this for a while, I open the little menu that gives the option to download this suit of armour. Oh look. It costs money. Last time I recall I had ALREADY bought the game. So now the future of gaming is, you buy the disc of the game for 35 quid, and then buy all the content for the game online for a measly 50 quid. I can’t wait to grow out of games.

So strike two, Microsoft are stealing my money. While I feel I only really need 2 (if not 1) strikes, I also feel a bit incomplete without a third (I don’t have OCD, shut up), so I would either make it that they’re the people who made Halo 3, or that they’re jealous pricks.

So just picture it, it’s a Microsoft conference, and they’re all sitting around brainstorming ideas about how to take people’s money. One dude blurts out ‘hey we could not charge the public for small necessary things and gain more sales?’ At this point he is fired and mysteriously flattened by a piano (shit happens). Then another guy says ‘what’s that console that Nintendo made…that one that’s selling disturbingly well and provides novelty to families for 10 minutes before becoming a dust-collector?’, the bastard that took over Ol’ Bill then tells him it’s the hilariously named Wii, and the guy continues, ‘well, we could make one of those, but make it without a controller…and with facial and voice recognition, and with a movement sensor, and a dignity loss indicator, to tell you how much dignity you’ll lose while playing on it’, at this the bastard goes ‘GREAT IDEA WE’LL SPEND BILLIONS OF POUNDS MAKING A PIECE OF SHIT’. Not buying the Natal (the name of this infernal contraption) is going to be fun.

So there you have it, undeniable proof that Microsoft is indeed, pure evil. To be honest, I’m surprised this hasn’t all been deleted, what with me using Microsoft Word and all that. It’s just a shame that I’m not going to stop using my Xbox 360. I’m not going to stop using Windows XP. I’m not going to stop letting Microsoft steal every last penny I have. Because it’s either them, or Apple.

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.