Why do they call the font "Trebuchet"? Have they ever seen a Trebuchet?!?

Well, I finally got a shiny new digital camera. Sorry camera-phone, we had some great times together (cut to wiggly flashback-style effect), but you've been succeeded by a whole 10 megapixels. Not that it makes a blind bit of difference after 6 megapixels.
I choose to show this to you by taking a photo of the worst drawing I could find and posting it.
. . .
So. Apparently I'm going up to dublin tomorrow for a trip to an Ireland-B rugby match. Wonderful (sarcasm is really hard to telegraph over a purely visual medium). This could be a perfectly nice day out, only to be compounded by my mother going "It'll be a nice oppertunity for some father-son bonding."
I do not live in the fucking '60's. Nor the 50's, 70's or 80's for that matter. Father-Son bonding became irrelevant around the time fathers began ignoring their family in pursuit of money and distractions associated thereof.
In case you haven't noticed, I work on my dad's farm. I get to see him. Oooh, every single day. I take instruction from him, and I try not to screw up too much around him. Granted, this isn't an ideal situation to grow closer to him, but to grow, you need some freakin room! Let me miss him a bit before you tell me to spend more time with him!
The dad I see is irritable and sure of himself. I dont really see the want in being any closer to him than I already am.
Fuckit. I've no good reason to be angered by this.
What I'm really pissed off by is when people try to tell me what to think. I hate it when people address me in some way that isnt advice. It makes me so infuriated when they make a point of not saying "please", and I DONT KNOW WHY.
Why should I be angry at people when 99% of the time they're only giving me guidance based on their own experiance? And from what I see I'm not the only one who thinks this.
Maybe it's because the world is constantly telling us these days "think for yourself" and "You are Special" with a capital S and saying it with a straight face (as opposed to the way I normally say it. Y'know, insultingly).
Maybe what we should be telling the kids is "Dont be a Dick" with a capital D (Unless your name is richard). If Barney is to blame for kids having overinflated senses of self-importance these days, maybe we should have a counter-argument saying "seriously though, kids, the people on this show are so stupidly talented they're already earning more than your parents. They'll be burned out and struggling before they're 20. Also, nothing on this show is real".
. . .
Damn it. I told myself not to descend into a rant this time. Screwit. Next time, I'll talk about puppies or hugs or sunlight blasting out of various orifices or something.
Thats it. Now go and walk to the shops and don't buy anything with sugar in it. Please.

You're 21?!? That calls for a celebration for some reason!!!!!

Just a quick word in edgeways before I fuck off to Limerick to do even less than usual. . .
So I don't actually have anything to talk about this time. I just sat down and said "Just fucking type something, dickhead!". Yeah, my inner monologue's kind of a dick. I should probably get that looked at.
So what to do? Well, I broke my rule of not advertising myself on facebook. So thats kind of a downer. But on the plus side, it seems someone actually read it! So in your face, Past-Me!
I could talk about this quote from "The Beach" where Leo DiCaprio says: "You ever feel like doin somethin diffr'nt, but then we all end up doin th'same thing?". But, while a good conversation topic, would end up with me admitting that I watched a film with Leo DiCaprio, so fuck that for a game of Monopoly.
The other thing I kind'v want to talk about is the 21st birthdays I've been going to. Yes, they're great craic, but jaysus, lads. Every single one of them is the same. Not just "Avatar was exactly the same as Ferngully/Dune/Pocohontas". But actually "This is being held in a too-large venue with too much fried food, with a mildly expensive bar, with a crap DJ, with retardedly inappropriate music thats too loud, with everyone in the room standing awkwardly in their Very Distinct Social Groups while being Overly Courteous to everyone before they can finally get drunk enough to do something they can properly regret later.
This is not what most people want these days! 21sts now are social gatherings. How can I be sociable when this weeks No.1 dance crap is drowning out all my witty repartee? Ok, thats a lie, but its still drowning out my awkward, shouty attempts at conversation.
I won't even have a 21st, if I can, cos I'll be out of the country on work experience. But looking at my situation at the latest 21st I was at (which was, all things considered pretty ok) I just thought "How can I possibly do something that is not like this in any way?" And the only idea to hit me was this: Fancy. Dress. Paintball.
Now just think about that for a bit. All the regular safety and shit of regular paintball, but with a costume. Doubtless my idea will be shot down long before it has a chance to approach the runway, and even more doubtless that if I type that into google, I will find that a million other people will have already done it. But a man can dream, can't he? And this has nothing to do with the fact that I constructed a samurai costume that I may only ever wear once.
"Oh god, yeah, that costume. You are a fucking idiot, you know that?"
Shuddup inner monologue.
"You actively dedicate yourself to the pursuit of new levels of stupid."
Shuddup.
"I mean, I can even comprehend the gratuitous fountain of idiocy that springs forth from your mind, and I am your mind!"
. . . Yeah? Your point is well made, however: Fuck off.
" . . . pfft. . . Just try not to hurt yourself going down stairs. K? Its so empty in here, I'm afraid I'm gonna get a concussion off the thick walls of your cranium."
. . .
Stupid imaginary characters made up for the purposes of storytelling.
"Stupid man who can't figure out a decent way to finish a blog post so is forced to ramble into an brick wall of an ending.
. . .
The End. Go play outside.