Well, after my last post read like a desperate cry for attention, lets try a different approach.
. . .
You see, I'm currently having a bit of a mental crisis, where i find that everything I say and do is being profoundly affected by chemicals acting in my bloodstream.
I'm currently experiencing what experts refer to as: an emotion.
Even more worryingly, I may even be happy.
Unfortunately there seems to be no cure for happiness short of repeated head trauma, and the symptoms can only be temporarily alleviated by copius amounts of The Cure, health foods or watching the news (so long as you avoid human-interest stories).
Those symptoms can include light-headedness, increased appetite and Katy Perry. All of these are dangerous on their own, but together they can be fatal (or at least really, really, really annoying).
Happiness is highly contagious, and carriers should be separated from healthy, depressed people and quarentined in special theatres where they will be shown a selection of movies including Schindlers List, Requiem for a Dream, Million Dollar Baby and any movie by Nicholas Sparks (of The Notebook fame).
Should you find yourself experiencing symptoms of happiness, simply remember the three "R"'s: Remember that all life is fleeting, no matter good a moment might feel,
Realise you are nothing but a liability to everyone you have ever known, and a walking, consuming wallet to everyone you haven't
Refuse to acknowledge anyone elses existance in this miserable life.
You should find yourself back to being a numb, jaded and obedient little drone almost immediately.
. . .
This message is brought to you by The Mass Media, The Hysterical Dipshit Minority, The Conservative Government, The Alliance of Advertising Executives, and Religeon.
. . .
Now go have a Kit-Kat or something . . .
UPDAAAAATE! Do I have your attention now? . . . Why the hell would I even ask that question? You're just theoretical readers of this piece. I'm just angrily typing this in an empty room, expelling my thoughts to people who may be mere figments of my imagination . . . . . . . . Imagine a porn film. Don't lie, you know exactly what to imagine. Now replace the actors with your grandparents. . . yep, good luck with that mental image. All the positions (ALL of them), and the cliche sticky finish. Now for the punchline: They've done that. Yep. Just because you don't think about your grandparents sex life doesn't mean it doesn't exist. They're probably doing it . . . right . . . now! Probably on the table you ate off the last time you were there.
. . .
There. If that last paragraph has no real-world consequences, I can without a doubt assume that my blogs readers have no physical form, and exist as what scientist-bloggers (or "Blogentists") would call "potential readers" or "readers that have yet to occur", and everything I say on this will have absolutely no effect on my life. Now if you'll excuse me, I must go and clean out the inside of my head with a Brillo pad and bleach. Be right back.
. . .
Well that was painful, and yet not as painful as the thoughts everyone who read that will be having for the rest of the day. Including me.
Is this the bit where I actually have to talk about stuff? Aw crap. Do I talk about being a mildly intelligent middle-class citizen who has become so jaded with not having to work for anything that he feels the need to become a raging sociopath and blame it on his environment when he inevitably abandons every drop of identity that he thought he once had just for a chance at becoming one of the happy sheeple? How he wishes that some kind of deep emotional event would happen in his life just to give him the drive to get off his lazy ass and actually do something?
Something that would give him self esteem?
Something that would make him interesting?
Something that would make him feel Alive!!??!?!!?!!*&%^$)£!!!!????
. . .
Naw, lets not talk about that, that'd be stupid.
Now go and sing a song while walking down the street or something.
Looking over at my long-unused playstation 2, an article I read not too long ago seems to ring truer and truer. The article made the accusation that there are simply too many good games coming out. This particular writer listed out a good 30+ games that he desperately wanted too finish, yet knew he never would.
If you'll just suffer with me for just a bit, I'll get to the funny in a bit.
I still want to finish: FFX, MGS3, Persona 4, Odin Sphere, LittleBigPlanet, Zelda: Ocarina of Time, and the entire Half Life series. . . oh dear jeebus. I've just had a frightening thought. I could've finished so much of that instead of playing Final Fantasy XIII. Well, fuckbuckets. Excuse me a moment . . .
dfgvhjnmk
There, now I feel a little better and have the shape of a keyboard imprinted in my face. The two may be related. Hold on while I reattach the letter . . . *y*. There we go.
Moving swiftly on from that literally painful revelation, I've just thought of a game to play. Its called "Make your own 9 levels of hell" and I would explain the rules but then I'd just be repeating myself. This is as interesting as it is not-ripped-off-Tim-Buckley.
Level 1) - People under the age of 50 who wear socks with sandals - We start with the fairly light offences. Socks are used to keep feet warm. Sandals are used to keep feet cold. Older people do it because sandals are easier to put on. Use your head. Punishment: Footwear and clothes replaced with sacking cloth or coarse wool. Now your clothes annoy you as much as they annoy other people.Level 2) - People with no imagination. Punishment: Access to all the primetime comedy TV series' DVD box sets in the world (Friends and such crap) and a broken DVD player. Actually, on second thoughts, I should've just changed the title of this level to "People who like Friends.Level 3) - Health Nutjobs. Note, I have nothing against people who try to stay healthy. I am one. This is reserved for those who think soaking your socks in vinegar can cure cancer, and Indian charms can stave off headaches. Punishment: Trapped at an all-you-can-eat buffet where all the tastes are reversed. Unhealthy foods taste great and vice versa. . . so just like real life, but taken to the extreme.Level 4) - People who purposly drink to excess at partys. Punishment: Permenant sobriety at Valhalla, but every morning you still wake up with a migraine and a girl called Bill.Level 5) - People who complain about their feelings. ("Nobody understands me" "You don't know what it's like") Punishment: Easy, trapped in a room with everyone who is exactly the same as them, everyone reverted back to their puberty years. Wearing shirts that show their innermost thoughts.Level 6) - People who don't understand consequences. ("I do sit-ups before going to McD's, why am I not thin?") Punishment: They are given a puppy/kitten, that will, despite thier best efforts, die young.They must then stuff the corpse themselves if they wish to get another.Level 7) - People who tell others their beliefs are wrong and theirs are right. Punishment: Flying-Spaghetti-Monster heaven. Or hell I suppose. (http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=flying+spaghetti+monster)
Level 8) - People who refuse to step out of their comfort zone. Punishment: Forced to watch videos of people on earth having fun doing new things, while all they have is the game: Pong, stuck on 2-player mode, alone.
Level 9) - PEOPLE. WHO. WON'T. STOP. QUOTING. FUCKING. BORAT. Punishment: Trapped in an enormous movie theatre that reruns and explicit version of the nude scene. Forever. While moustachioed men gnaw off their genitals.
. . .
Why does this always end up a rant? I'm really trying hard not to go down that route.
There, I'm done, now go finish a video game you haven't played in years or something.
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.
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.
Ugh. How long has it been since I updated this? Nearly a month?
Question: Do I update this because I've thought of something interesting to talk about? Or do I update out of a sense of requirement?
Well, now that that's thouroughly derailed my train of thought, on to the random blabber.
Assuming you've not only just managed to crawl out of your dungeon-cave long enough to use a computer and this happens to be the very first site you landed on (god help you), then you've probably heard of a game called World Of Warcraft. Or WOW for short, inviting all sorts of humorous and loveable amazement-based misunderstandings (not).
Its a game that involves a player paying a regular fee to play as a customiseable virtual avatar in a fantastical world alongside millions (theoretically) of other players, slaying monsters, looting wenches (or whatever), and for some reason, dancing.
Its, without a doubt, the most successful video game of all time, and is a property worth billions.
Its also one of the few games I will try my utmost to never, ever play.
My reasons can be surmised thusly:
1) From watching others play, It seems that the game has all with the fun and immersion of watching a single arbitrary number steadily increasing. I've derived more joy out of pressing the #Ran button on a calculator over and over.
2) It has no decent story, graphics (i kno its difficult for a game that age and size) or diversity in gameplay.
3) Some other groundless and biased accusation . . .
4) The main reason, which is that I would hate this giant sense of purpose hanging over my head in the form of a monthly payment. What better way to keep the masses playing than to give them a sense of wastefulness at having NOT played the game. The day that the video games start to dictate when and how you play is the day I wish for God (whichever one you want) to strike us all down and start again with amoebas.
. . .
Plus I have little enough of a social life as it is, but I recognise that and am working on it.
And thats why I dont feel like playing WOW.
Stop me if I'm wrong here . . .
But it feels like I've hit this weird point where the two most terrifying words you could say to me in succession are "party" and "birthday". And not necessarily in that order.
Am I alone in thinking that birthdays might be the most depressing celebration after funerals and valentines day? And funerals don't even really qualify as "celebrations".
But with birthdays it's all "another year older, another year wiser" and unbelievable bullshit like that, when all you're really thinking is "another year older. . . count yourself lucky you got this far, bucko. You think it's bad now? just wait till you have to pay Income Tax!"
The needless pressure from other people about what you're going to spend it. Why do I have to "spend" this time in particular? Personally, I'd rather just waste it like I do all the other hours in the day.
Do I really have to rejoice in the miracle that is my ability to exist for a predetermined length of time? My main gripe is that I've done nothing to warrent this celebration, so it feels like I'm cheating at the game of life or something (On a related note, this is the same feeling I get whenever I pass "Go" in Monopoly). I try to live without handouts so that I can get by by at least pretending to have some redeemable qualities, then every year this sudden wave of expectency comes crashing down at the very end of the school year, and I'm frankly, at my most bored, irritated and I'm easier to rub up the wrong way than a sociopathic porcupine with a skin condition sitting in a patch of stinging nettles with a sign saying "free hugs" above its head.
. . . Wow, that analogy got away from me awfully fast . . .
So no, I don't care for birthdays when there really is a bajillion better reasons to enjoy yourself for a day every year (And there is literally nothing I can think of off hand that horrifies me more than a rented hotel bar with a dance floor, with balloons, tiny sandwiches and a shit DJ).
. . .
And if I'm wrong, then tell me why.
. . .
"Sometimes people put up barriers just to see who cares enough to break them down"
Well, after my last post read like a desperate cry for attention, lets try a different approach.
