I got this off Kates Takes 5 and though her top five keywords were a little cute and somewhat acceptable, mine have taken a turn into the Pornographic Avenue. I am amused. That should teach me to have such a grotesque blog title. No wonder I am not getting much traffic. Porn connoisseurs do not read. Much. I think.
1. I Botoxed My Vagina
Seriously.
2. Vagina Pee Far
Oh wow.
3. Quiet Girl That Is Bulimic
4. Vagina Photo
5. Woman Fuck Horse
Surely, that is just... Wrong.
I chucked all of those words into Google and it came up with 'Megan Fox Plastic Surgery'.
This couldn't have made my day better.
I just choked on my freshly made coffee, too. Black coffee on white duvet. Just... Wow. It made Jaz happy, too. He Laughed Out Loud. I guess that was him trying to tell me, subliminally, That will teach you to think that most people who stumbles upon your blog are your intellect equivalent.
Sunday, October 23, 2011
Bloody parting shots.
Petty. Sad. Pitiful. Group dynamics. You have got to love group dynamics. Am I such a horrible human being? A valuable waste of space? I must be to some. Self-victimization. I do partake. It's called me having a moan. Oh poor me. Life is so shit for me. Me me me me me me.
How, HOW, have I changed so drastically this year until friends of mine refuse to be friends of mine? I wonder. I do wonder. How have I changed into something I have always laughed at? Maybe I've always been laughing at sad people. I suppose that makes me just as sad, rejoicing in the misery of others. Have I laughed at people who used to advertise their blog and sell their souls every so often? Because that is the only thing I can think of that is out of the ordinary for me. Maybe I have. I have behaved and reacted in peculiar ways. People are disgusting, I know. I am a person and I am just as disgusting. Sometimes I replayed the scenario in my head and cried. Sometimes, I laughed so hard until it hurts. Dickheads, the pair of them and their entire bloody army.
Why is it at 25 I feel like I am back in bloody Secondary School? Maybe it is because I have some of my schoolmates in my Facebook and not surprisingly, they still do behave like they did in their teenage years. Why do I even have some of them on my Facebook anyway? To get reacquainted and then it will dawn on me, again, why we were never mates in school anyway? How have I changed to them since my teenage years, I wonder. My friend, Timmeh, said something months back and it did hit home, with me at least. He said, 'If we all spent time talking to each other we wouldn't be worrying.' or something along those lines. A lot of people on FB was a bit miffed with the new FB feed thing, saying how we were getting spammed with random rubbish. It was true what he said though and it did fill me with a little bit of shame, actually. Why do we have all these people on FB, if we get so miffed by their mere status updates, their comments, their picture posts. Why would we rather have a very quiet FB profile and shut ourselves away from these people that we, ourselves, have added willingly, or maybe out of obligation? Why even have Facebook? Why not not have it and be one of the few arrogant people that say 'Oh, I don't do all that Facebook, Twitter shit'. Why have a social networking site if you don't wish to social network?
If I were so see someone I don't like, I'd just turn a corner and pretend I don't see them so that we don't have to interact. I would rather do that then stand there, tapping my foot and wishing someone would have a cardiac arrest across the street to act as a distraction as I run away.
Why do some people like to get into an argument and then end it with 'I used to know you so well'? Was it my fault that you stopped knowing me so well? Was it my fault that you did not see this argument taking place, considering that you had known me so well, and anticipated my response to be like that? Have I let you down by not reacting the way you had wished me to? Have I somehow disappointed you by behaving like a human, erratic and unreasonable as it is, and not that droid that you had thought I was in all those years of friendship? Have I ended up pissing on your Sub-Human Droid manual? Was I not allowed to react? Was your way the only rational way for me to behave? What. If you had known me so well, why were we even arguing? Did you purposely say the things that you said just to wind me up? Were you having a laugh? Had I behaved the way you had wanted me to behave, would your parting shot have been 'You used to be so disobedient'? Were we arguing just for the hell of it? I have lived in my body for 25 years and I don't even know when is my next period. I don't even know what my anus really looked like. I don't even know myself. I don't even know that some telly advert would set me off for days. I don't even know myself. My parents had not known I would be fucking off without turning back. Who are you to say that you used to know me so well? Was your supposed knowledge of my person based on my iPod playlist? I listen to Metallica so you know what sort of an angry teenager I was? I listen to Adele so you understand that I am actually quite sentimental. My high-score on Brick-Breaker was Level 29 so you know that I actually whip my iPod out to avoid conversation. What? What is with these people who think they can dig deep with such parting shots. Well, obviously they have, because if not I would not be so wound up. I would have felt better had the parting shot be 'Your left breast is saggier than your right'.
Well, then, considering the situation, I will say that you had not known me all that well, I suppose? Because if you had, whatever I said would not have horrified you as much.
How, HOW, have I changed so drastically this year until friends of mine refuse to be friends of mine? I wonder. I do wonder. How have I changed into something I have always laughed at? Maybe I've always been laughing at sad people. I suppose that makes me just as sad, rejoicing in the misery of others. Have I laughed at people who used to advertise their blog and sell their souls every so often? Because that is the only thing I can think of that is out of the ordinary for me. Maybe I have. I have behaved and reacted in peculiar ways. People are disgusting, I know. I am a person and I am just as disgusting. Sometimes I replayed the scenario in my head and cried. Sometimes, I laughed so hard until it hurts. Dickheads, the pair of them and their entire bloody army.
Why is it at 25 I feel like I am back in bloody Secondary School? Maybe it is because I have some of my schoolmates in my Facebook and not surprisingly, they still do behave like they did in their teenage years. Why do I even have some of them on my Facebook anyway? To get reacquainted and then it will dawn on me, again, why we were never mates in school anyway? How have I changed to them since my teenage years, I wonder. My friend, Timmeh, said something months back and it did hit home, with me at least. He said, 'If we all spent time talking to each other we wouldn't be worrying.' or something along those lines. A lot of people on FB was a bit miffed with the new FB feed thing, saying how we were getting spammed with random rubbish. It was true what he said though and it did fill me with a little bit of shame, actually. Why do we have all these people on FB, if we get so miffed by their mere status updates, their comments, their picture posts. Why would we rather have a very quiet FB profile and shut ourselves away from these people that we, ourselves, have added willingly, or maybe out of obligation? Why even have Facebook? Why not not have it and be one of the few arrogant people that say 'Oh, I don't do all that Facebook, Twitter shit'. Why have a social networking site if you don't wish to social network?
If I were so see someone I don't like, I'd just turn a corner and pretend I don't see them so that we don't have to interact. I would rather do that then stand there, tapping my foot and wishing someone would have a cardiac arrest across the street to act as a distraction as I run away.
Why do some people like to get into an argument and then end it with 'I used to know you so well'? Was it my fault that you stopped knowing me so well? Was it my fault that you did not see this argument taking place, considering that you had known me so well, and anticipated my response to be like that? Have I let you down by not reacting the way you had wished me to? Have I somehow disappointed you by behaving like a human, erratic and unreasonable as it is, and not that droid that you had thought I was in all those years of friendship? Have I ended up pissing on your Sub-Human Droid manual? Was I not allowed to react? Was your way the only rational way for me to behave? What. If you had known me so well, why were we even arguing? Did you purposely say the things that you said just to wind me up? Were you having a laugh? Had I behaved the way you had wanted me to behave, would your parting shot have been 'You used to be so disobedient'? Were we arguing just for the hell of it? I have lived in my body for 25 years and I don't even know when is my next period. I don't even know what my anus really looked like. I don't even know myself. I don't even know that some telly advert would set me off for days. I don't even know myself. My parents had not known I would be fucking off without turning back. Who are you to say that you used to know me so well? Was your supposed knowledge of my person based on my iPod playlist? I listen to Metallica so you know what sort of an angry teenager I was? I listen to Adele so you understand that I am actually quite sentimental. My high-score on Brick-Breaker was Level 29 so you know that I actually whip my iPod out to avoid conversation. What? What is with these people who think they can dig deep with such parting shots. Well, obviously they have, because if not I would not be so wound up. I would have felt better had the parting shot be 'Your left breast is saggier than your right'.
Well, then, considering the situation, I will say that you had not known me all that well, I suppose? Because if you had, whatever I said would not have horrified you as much.
Thursday, October 20, 2011
Light a candle for Baby Isla.
I haven't been following much Anderson's Blog but I have been following Motherhood Truth for a bit now and what I have read from her latest post is extremely soul-destroying. I supposed after Baby Charlie, I have been running a bit wild on the internet, seeking and reading blogs of mother and parents of a child that was miscarried or born a stillborn. I don't find joy from reading such posts. Neither do I feel relief that we weren't the only people forced to face with such things. I don't know why I even seek out such blogs. It is not as though I am able to reach out and console the parents. What can ever be said? Having gone through such an ordeal, it doesn't not give me a better position to dish out condolences. We are still dealing with the loss. Jaz is too afraid to try again. Too afraid to attend another funeral. I guess on his part, he has given up a little bit. I have no idea where that puts me. I suppose now I have to contend with cuddling puppies and kittens and cry in my own little corner when the need gets too bad.
Baby Isla was born 14 weeks premature and she passed away at 7 weeks. In honour of her passing, the parents will be releasing balloons for her and are encouraging others to join in as well. I would love to be at the funeral of their Baby Isla. I would love to be there to show support and give a hug to the parents that I don't really know but would show my support for them anyway. I couldn't. So, instead, I will use my space here for them and Baby Isla and spread the word. Jump on their page and give them words of condolences, spread the message via your own blog, whatever. Just help them make the goodbye for their little girl a memorable one.
Baby Isla was born 14 weeks premature and she passed away at 7 weeks. In honour of her passing, the parents will be releasing balloons for her and are encouraging others to join in as well. I would love to be at the funeral of their Baby Isla. I would love to be there to show support and give a hug to the parents that I don't really know but would show my support for them anyway. I couldn't. So, instead, I will use my space here for them and Baby Isla and spread the word. Jump on their page and give them words of condolences, spread the message via your own blog, whatever. Just help them make the goodbye for their little girl a memorable one.
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
CatfishClusterFuck
I've been wanting to watch Catfish for months ever since I saw the trailer during an advert. Months of incessant whining, jumping up in excitement and talking over people when I see the advert on the telly. It was really a 'movie' about this bloke who met this girl on Facebook and somewhat had a relationship with her and then lo and behold something goes wrong when he realized some things did not add up with the bird. Typical story line as far as I am concerned with online dating, really. It is a bit rich coming from me considering that I met Jaz on Myspace and I had traveled all the way across the world to be with him. But whatever, I am a pessimist and I don't think things are going to work out anyway between this Nev bloke and that unnecessarily-beautiful Megan that had musical skills, which later turned out to be bloody recordings of random Youtube song covers, and a dancer's body. To be fair it is quite good with the cringe factor. You know it is going to be garbage, you know it is going to be a case of an identity theft, you know it is all going to end in tears. I suppose it's nicer to watch someone else going through the humiliation, even though his character might be entirely fictional and this entire movie was thought up by a bunch of college students bonged off their faces.
First off, the story is a tad confusing to the point where to you have to annoyingly talk out loud during the movie to explain to your own bloody self exactly what on earth is going on. SPOILER ALERT. Really, I am going to spoil this whole production to hell and back for sucking the juice out of my brains through every orifice for what seemed like 2 hours. I couldn't locate the file on the computer anymore so I am guessing that in my hissy fit last night, I might have deleted the whole torrent and data off my PC so therefor, I am not able to tell you exactly how long the movie was. I don't even want to call it a movie. It was a documentary-type garbage. The kind where the whole ordeal was done with handheld camera of various shapes, sizes and variations and a crappy microphone that was taped to some man's ridiculously hairy chest. Let's just call it Garbage. So, Gullible Twat was Nev, the main bloke and he was a photographer. Nev got a picture published in the papers and then he received an e-mail, I think, of the same exact picture that was done in an oil painting by a girl who claimed that she saw the picture in the papers and felt inspired. This girl was a 9 year old named Abby. I think she was 9. Whatever. Then Abby and Nev became quite close and friendly and Abby started sending more and more oil paintings to Nev who was then living in New York. At first I recalled the trailer that claimed 'THE LAST FORTY MINUTES OF THE MOVIE WILL BE THE BIGGEST EMOTIONAL ROLLER-COASTER YOU HAVE EVER BEEN ON' and thought Oh shit, it is going to be some sick, kiddy-fiddling shit, isn't it? Oh, for fuck's sake. But then no, Nev got talking to Abby's Mom who was Angela, and then somehow hooked up with Abby's half-sister Megan, the unnecessarily-gorgeous woman. Blah-dee-blah-blah-blah. So then they sex-texted and whatever and then there was this thing with some lies that she told about the music that she sang which Nev and his brother, Rel, and his mate, Henry, all of whom were in the Garbage being the cameramen, later found out were just some random Youtube recordings of cover artists and then... Nev got suspicious. I mean, really. Sigh. So then, they fucked off to where this Meg supposedly stayed and in the middle of the fucking night found the ranch that she was staying in and found that all the postcards he had sent her was rotting in the mailbox and that the lot was vacant. All the way while the stupid boys were fumbling in that empty ranch at 2-3 in the bloody morning in the dark, I kept saying 'I don't get why these stupid fucks have to do this shit in the middle of the bloody night. Why can't they be sensible human beings and do it in the day? I mean, they are trying to track down a girl, who lives alone in a fucking ranch, and they are doing their 'visiting' at 2 in the morning? I tell you, Baby, these men are fucked in the head and I hope they get slaughtered in the farm and fucking die all of them.' and Jaz talked over me and said, 'They are going to find a dungeon and discover that that Abby kid had been killed and there was blood in the garage. I know it, Baby. They are going to find out that that kid that been brutally-slaughtered and some sick adults stole her identity.' and I said 'No, Bay, I don't think so. They are just going to discover that the woman behind all this is indeed a fat, lonely woman who may not be that fat or ugly but she just has issues with herself. Maybe she is disabled. One of those amputees who paint with that strappy thing on their foreheads.'. Let me just state here, I am in no way trying to put down the disabled people. I just have no idea what that strappy thing they put on their foreheads to paint are called. We kept arguing, on the bed, in the dark until we realized that the Garbage had progressed fucking further on, and they were then at Abby's house and found out that Angela, the mother, looked nothing like the Facebook picture. That was it, really. All along, it had been that Angela woman. Abby did exist but she doesn't paint at all. So did Vince, the husband, who also looked like nothing on the Facebook pictures. Megan existed too but the real Megan knew nothing of Nev's existence. It was all Angela. She had created some 20 fake accounts just to make it all seem real. There were disabled people in it. Her twin sons were mentally-disabled, bless them. And she wasn't morbidly fat. She just looked nothing like that sparkling fake photo of hers. At least, if she had all that bloody time on her hands, fucking learn Photoshop and warp the shit out of all her pictures then. At least then if she got found out, she can say, Oh well, I blame McDonald's these past 3 months.
I actually have a school-mate on my FB who warped all her pictures on there and I was well-impressed at first thinking, well shit, she's looking good these days, until I found a picture where she had accidentally warped the bookcase behind her as well. What a twat.
ANYWAY. Wow, even this blog has been a waste of my time. I'm sorry. I don't mean to drag you into this garbage. I just had to vent. And post something to show that I am indeed alive.
First off, the story is a tad confusing to the point where to you have to annoyingly talk out loud during the movie to explain to your own bloody self exactly what on earth is going on. SPOILER ALERT. Really, I am going to spoil this whole production to hell and back for sucking the juice out of my brains through every orifice for what seemed like 2 hours. I couldn't locate the file on the computer anymore so I am guessing that in my hissy fit last night, I might have deleted the whole torrent and data off my PC so therefor, I am not able to tell you exactly how long the movie was. I don't even want to call it a movie. It was a documentary-type garbage. The kind where the whole ordeal was done with handheld camera of various shapes, sizes and variations and a crappy microphone that was taped to some man's ridiculously hairy chest. Let's just call it Garbage. So, Gullible Twat was Nev, the main bloke and he was a photographer. Nev got a picture published in the papers and then he received an e-mail, I think, of the same exact picture that was done in an oil painting by a girl who claimed that she saw the picture in the papers and felt inspired. This girl was a 9 year old named Abby. I think she was 9. Whatever. Then Abby and Nev became quite close and friendly and Abby started sending more and more oil paintings to Nev who was then living in New York. At first I recalled the trailer that claimed 'THE LAST FORTY MINUTES OF THE MOVIE WILL BE THE BIGGEST EMOTIONAL ROLLER-COASTER YOU HAVE EVER BEEN ON' and thought Oh shit, it is going to be some sick, kiddy-fiddling shit, isn't it? Oh, for fuck's sake. But then no, Nev got talking to Abby's Mom who was Angela, and then somehow hooked up with Abby's half-sister Megan, the unnecessarily-gorgeous woman. Blah-dee-blah-blah-blah. So then they sex-texted and whatever and then there was this thing with some lies that she told about the music that she sang which Nev and his brother, Rel, and his mate, Henry, all of whom were in the Garbage being the cameramen, later found out were just some random Youtube recordings of cover artists and then... Nev got suspicious. I mean, really. Sigh. So then, they fucked off to where this Meg supposedly stayed and in the middle of the fucking night found the ranch that she was staying in and found that all the postcards he had sent her was rotting in the mailbox and that the lot was vacant. All the way while the stupid boys were fumbling in that empty ranch at 2-3 in the bloody morning in the dark, I kept saying 'I don't get why these stupid fucks have to do this shit in the middle of the bloody night. Why can't they be sensible human beings and do it in the day? I mean, they are trying to track down a girl, who lives alone in a fucking ranch, and they are doing their 'visiting' at 2 in the morning? I tell you, Baby, these men are fucked in the head and I hope they get slaughtered in the farm and fucking die all of them.' and Jaz talked over me and said, 'They are going to find a dungeon and discover that that Abby kid had been killed and there was blood in the garage. I know it, Baby. They are going to find out that that kid that been brutally-slaughtered and some sick adults stole her identity.' and I said 'No, Bay, I don't think so. They are just going to discover that the woman behind all this is indeed a fat, lonely woman who may not be that fat or ugly but she just has issues with herself. Maybe she is disabled. One of those amputees who paint with that strappy thing on their foreheads.'. Let me just state here, I am in no way trying to put down the disabled people. I just have no idea what that strappy thing they put on their foreheads to paint are called. We kept arguing, on the bed, in the dark until we realized that the Garbage had progressed fucking further on, and they were then at Abby's house and found out that Angela, the mother, looked nothing like the Facebook picture. That was it, really. All along, it had been that Angela woman. Abby did exist but she doesn't paint at all. So did Vince, the husband, who also looked like nothing on the Facebook pictures. Megan existed too but the real Megan knew nothing of Nev's existence. It was all Angela. She had created some 20 fake accounts just to make it all seem real. There were disabled people in it. Her twin sons were mentally-disabled, bless them. And she wasn't morbidly fat. She just looked nothing like that sparkling fake photo of hers. At least, if she had all that bloody time on her hands, fucking learn Photoshop and warp the shit out of all her pictures then. At least then if she got found out, she can say, Oh well, I blame McDonald's these past 3 months.
I actually have a school-mate on my FB who warped all her pictures on there and I was well-impressed at first thinking, well shit, she's looking good these days, until I found a picture where she had accidentally warped the bookcase behind her as well. What a twat.
ANYWAY. Wow, even this blog has been a waste of my time. I'm sorry. I don't mean to drag you into this garbage. I just had to vent. And post something to show that I am indeed alive.
Saturday, October 8, 2011
ZEN THIS.
I can never be a Buddhist. I am too angry, too potty-mouthed, too overpowering a twat to ever be a calm, nirvana-esque type of person. The closest I have come to Nirvana would be a hot cup of coffee in the morning accompanied with a fag and a morning-breath-laced kiss from Jaz.
Jaz tells me that it is not our sole responsibility on this earth to educate everyone and each person must learn from themselves their own mistakes and become a better person out of every bloody mistake they have made. He also tells me that all we can do is hope the person finds the right way. Can you see why this sometimes drives me to bawl and yell at him? I always tell him that the person becomes my concern and it is my responsibility to educate him on his wrong-doings when the person comes into my life, disrespects my belongings and fuck up MY feng shui. It is my duty to cuss him and his upbringing out. However bad it reflects upon my remaining character, I always begin my rants on the object of aggression with Does Your Parents Not Teach You? and that is usually replied with Why Are You Involving My Parents and almost always ends in tears. For starters, when your parents raised you they should have inserted the You Shouldn't Use Your Housemates' Soap Dish As An Ashtray speech.
How can someone be so rich, be raised with a golden spoon wedged in their rectum live like Heroin Junkies? How? How is it that someone with minimal luxuries have a better personal hygiene than someone who gets their haircut for £25? I'm sorry, Jaz. Excuse your Un-Zen-Like fiancée as she tips the offending brown liquid from the soap-dish into the offender's bottle of shampoo, fag butts and all. Even that is not good enough. Let me just rip the remaining butt to pieces and chuck the tobacco in the bottle as well and give it a good shake. I'm sorry. No one fucks with my bar of Imperial Leather soap. And why is my razor that I use to shave my armpits clumped with scraggly, long hairs? Did someone's herpes from someone's nether regions somehow reached my underarm? Let me just tip that in the bottle of Radox Relaxing Bubble Bath.
WHY WAS MY TABASCO SAUCE USED TO DROWN A WASP?
I got Jaz well on my side then because Animals Shouldn't Be Hurt. Especially not with Tabasco Sauce, noooo. Is it not enough that you demoralize my toilettries that you have morally-outrage my prized spices and condiments as well? Where do we draw the line? Where and when am I allowed to Un-Pseudo-Zen and let it rip? When will I be allowed to say 'No fuck you and other around you. Fuck you and supposedly posh life, posh relatives, dead or alive, once or twice removed. Fuck you and the dodgy-looking, made in China pedestal that you believed were imported from Rome. Fuck you and your disposable cash. Fuck you and that apparently expensive toilet seat that you have managed to sick up all over, you BULIMIC FUCK. Fuck you and your private school education that have failed to educate you in your posh home economics class that YOU DO NOT MIX A RAG THAT WAS CRUSTED WITH DOG SHIT WITH OTHER CLOTHES THAT NEED WASHING. Fuck you and your fucking plates that was bought from Achica.com (members only luxury homeware) that was crusted with spit and phlegm and oh fuck I'm going to hurl I will just chuck this in the bin.'
Ooh shit. I need to meditate now. And some hot chocolate will do me some good as well.
P.S I love comments. I'm not rude when I don't comment back but Blogger is a bastard wanker these days who won't let me reply back for reasons beyond me.
Jaz tells me that it is not our sole responsibility on this earth to educate everyone and each person must learn from themselves their own mistakes and become a better person out of every bloody mistake they have made. He also tells me that all we can do is hope the person finds the right way. Can you see why this sometimes drives me to bawl and yell at him? I always tell him that the person becomes my concern and it is my responsibility to educate him on his wrong-doings when the person comes into my life, disrespects my belongings and fuck up MY feng shui. It is my duty to cuss him and his upbringing out. However bad it reflects upon my remaining character, I always begin my rants on the object of aggression with Does Your Parents Not Teach You? and that is usually replied with Why Are You Involving My Parents and almost always ends in tears. For starters, when your parents raised you they should have inserted the You Shouldn't Use Your Housemates' Soap Dish As An Ashtray speech.
How can someone be so rich, be raised with a golden spoon wedged in their rectum live like Heroin Junkies? How? How is it that someone with minimal luxuries have a better personal hygiene than someone who gets their haircut for £25? I'm sorry, Jaz. Excuse your Un-Zen-Like fiancée as she tips the offending brown liquid from the soap-dish into the offender's bottle of shampoo, fag butts and all. Even that is not good enough. Let me just rip the remaining butt to pieces and chuck the tobacco in the bottle as well and give it a good shake. I'm sorry. No one fucks with my bar of Imperial Leather soap. And why is my razor that I use to shave my armpits clumped with scraggly, long hairs? Did someone's herpes from someone's nether regions somehow reached my underarm? Let me just tip that in the bottle of Radox Relaxing Bubble Bath.
WHY WAS MY TABASCO SAUCE USED TO DROWN A WASP?
I got Jaz well on my side then because Animals Shouldn't Be Hurt. Especially not with Tabasco Sauce, noooo. Is it not enough that you demoralize my toilettries that you have morally-outrage my prized spices and condiments as well? Where do we draw the line? Where and when am I allowed to Un-Pseudo-Zen and let it rip? When will I be allowed to say 'No fuck you and other around you. Fuck you and supposedly posh life, posh relatives, dead or alive, once or twice removed. Fuck you and the dodgy-looking, made in China pedestal that you believed were imported from Rome. Fuck you and your disposable cash. Fuck you and that apparently expensive toilet seat that you have managed to sick up all over, you BULIMIC FUCK. Fuck you and your private school education that have failed to educate you in your posh home economics class that YOU DO NOT MIX A RAG THAT WAS CRUSTED WITH DOG SHIT WITH OTHER CLOTHES THAT NEED WASHING. Fuck you and your fucking plates that was bought from Achica.com (members only luxury homeware) that was crusted with spit and phlegm and oh fuck I'm going to hurl I will just chuck this in the bin.'
Ooh shit. I need to meditate now. And some hot chocolate will do me some good as well.
P.S I love comments. I'm not rude when I don't comment back but Blogger is a bastard wanker these days who won't let me reply back for reasons beyond me.
Tuesday, October 4, 2011
Really, Facebook?
This advert keeps popping up on the right side of my Faceshet page and every time I see it I think, 'Really?'. Women love this game? Why? Because it taps into our maternal side and all we really want to do is rear dragons? I do know that most of the ads that pop up on the side came from a research that they did on all our profile pages to specifically target at us. Like myself, for example. I am stated as 'Engaged' on my profile and I get loads of ads on the side about wedding photographies, honeymoon holidays, craploads of cupcakes that look so good I will cry if anyone really eats that at my wedding, wedding dresses and so on and so forth. I also get a lot of ads about junk food, processed drinks, more cakes unrelated to weddings and... Weight-slimming ads. What are you trying to tell me, FB? Apart from the fact that you a tad condescending. Why do I feel like each and every site that I have registered on are in cahoots with FB? They communicate with each other, Superdrug and FB and the moment I log in to Superdrugs to look at latest deals, FB is spamming the right side of my wall with deals for Aussie conditioners in Superdrugs. It is almost as though I might log off Superdrugs, not be as tempted with the deals there and then see the ads on my FB and finally get tempted and decide that if I don't buy Aussie Conditioners I might actually self-detonate. Why am I getting ads from Clearblue after I randomly bookmarked 'Predict Your Baby's Sex' on my Chrome?
I posted a video from Youtube about an Australian evangelist and the next thing I know, I have church site adverts. I'm more intrigued about the church paying FB some £200 to advertise god, really.
iPhone 4S is out apparently. I have no idea. I saw some post about it being made by a friend and he went a bit excited and mental for a bit there. I imagined he must have frothed at the mouth as well. I am not a big Apple person. I even resented the iPod that I had. It was alright, it played music like I wanted it to, it looked nice enough but I would rather another brand that is not as soul-destroying when it comes to installing music or taking it off the iPod to transfer onto the PC for back-up purposes or when my iTunes shat and died on me. I just wish that Apple had gone with the Roman Numerical approach to the iPhone. In 3 years time, we are all going to see some stupid number next to the phone that may have some funky-sounding techno-gadgety word next to it. Like iPhone 19 Ultramax, that would really some like some sanitary pad, if you ask me. Had they gone for the Roman Numerical approach, they would be on to iPhone V now and that would sound so much better. iPhone V, VI, VII, VIII, IX. Wewt. See how prettier that looked instantly? As opposed to iPhone 5, 6, 7, 8, 9? iPhone 4S, huh? Like... An abbreviation for iPhone 4Shizzle or something?
Saturday, October 1, 2011
The WHAT? The Tunnel.
A few nights ago, Jaz and I sat down and watched The Tunnel. A supposedly-low budget movie done by Australians. It's this rising trend with Paranormal Activity, isn't it? Paranormal Activity, which was amazing at first because it was filled with suspense, horror and yes, a big-breasted woman was involved and I was a bit pleased that her and all her glory got dragged away at the end. The second one was all right, I guess, because we could then say 'Ohhhh, so THAT was how it began then?' and patted ourselves on the back for the ability to put two and two together. And then NOW, Paranormal Activity 3 is coming out soon. What started out as fun is now starting to freak me out a bit because I am now asking myself if I have this strong fascination with perving on people's home-made videos and CCTV footages. So, with the third one, they are going back to the girls' childhood home to really find out Where It All Began and not surprisingly, it started with two stupid girls saying Bloody Mary three times and then left Bloody Mary all by her Bloody Self in the Bloody Bathroom with the Bloody Camera on. Next year, they will be releasing Paranormal Activity 4 where a camera will be inserted inside their mother's secret bits to find one of the girls fucking about with an Ouija board while she was in the womb at 8 months old some thirty odd years ago.
Now, The Tunnel. It's this movie about a whole bunch of journalist and that one lone woman amongst them who was so determined to Make It Big with this one story of wandering around in Sydney's underground system to find out what the government was doing about the homeless people who had been living in the sewers. So, naturally, they wandered about in the dark in the tunnel with their night-vision camera, some massive torch-lights and that one camera light thing that was so bright that if you look directly at it, you'd be convinced you're walking into heaven. You now have 4 crew, including that one woman who like all women before her in the same role, more or less, will turn into one huge screaming mess that you just want to punch the shit out of her and pray that she will eventually die being mauled by that thing that they were running away. What was it they were running from? Jaz and I reckoned it was some military experiment gone wrong that resulted in the creation of that scary-as-fuck fucker that I really think looked like Gollum, with a lot of hair. We couldn't really work out what it exactly looked like due to the shitty camera-handling as is the norm with all this bloody type of movie. Scream, scream, run, pant, insert expletives, a slight glimpse followed by a large intake of breath because you're wondering if it was what you thought it was. Stumble, camera sliding on the floor, more screams, more expletives and then... Silence. Silence that stretched on for yonks. And in that silence, you'd attempt to breathe and then take a sip of your water at the same time because you think you are awesome like that and then an ear-shattering scream, followed by a jump, a loud swear from your person and then an awkward giggle because you cannot quite believe you reacted like that.
Camera motion-sickness is the key to movies like these. Just like Blair Witch. Remember Blair Witch Project? Loads of american teenagers screaming, a few things found on the forest floor that looked like guts, more blood, more screams, more stupid american kids screaming OMYGODOMYGODWHATWASTHAT?! I saw that when I was 13 and my younger self did not at all appreciate that garbage that was on the movie screen. My present self STILL resented that movie with all my heart. That movie and that album of STEPS that I got around the same time, probably. Fucking hate it with all my life. It was pointless. Let's just say it like how it is. It was garbage. No ending, nothing whatsoever. Did they ever find that Blair Witch? Did they all die? WHAT.
At least when american teenagers were running around in Carrie 2, Zachary Ty Bryan ended up with his dick getting harpooned. That was satisfactory.
Now, The Tunnel. It's this movie about a whole bunch of journalist and that one lone woman amongst them who was so determined to Make It Big with this one story of wandering around in Sydney's underground system to find out what the government was doing about the homeless people who had been living in the sewers. So, naturally, they wandered about in the dark in the tunnel with their night-vision camera, some massive torch-lights and that one camera light thing that was so bright that if you look directly at it, you'd be convinced you're walking into heaven. You now have 4 crew, including that one woman who like all women before her in the same role, more or less, will turn into one huge screaming mess that you just want to punch the shit out of her and pray that she will eventually die being mauled by that thing that they were running away. What was it they were running from? Jaz and I reckoned it was some military experiment gone wrong that resulted in the creation of that scary-as-fuck fucker that I really think looked like Gollum, with a lot of hair. We couldn't really work out what it exactly looked like due to the shitty camera-handling as is the norm with all this bloody type of movie. Scream, scream, run, pant, insert expletives, a slight glimpse followed by a large intake of breath because you're wondering if it was what you thought it was. Stumble, camera sliding on the floor, more screams, more expletives and then... Silence. Silence that stretched on for yonks. And in that silence, you'd attempt to breathe and then take a sip of your water at the same time because you think you are awesome like that and then an ear-shattering scream, followed by a jump, a loud swear from your person and then an awkward giggle because you cannot quite believe you reacted like that.
Camera motion-sickness is the key to movies like these. Just like Blair Witch. Remember Blair Witch Project? Loads of american teenagers screaming, a few things found on the forest floor that looked like guts, more blood, more screams, more stupid american kids screaming OMYGODOMYGODWHATWASTHAT?! I saw that when I was 13 and my younger self did not at all appreciate that garbage that was on the movie screen. My present self STILL resented that movie with all my heart. That movie and that album of STEPS that I got around the same time, probably. Fucking hate it with all my life. It was pointless. Let's just say it like how it is. It was garbage. No ending, nothing whatsoever. Did they ever find that Blair Witch? Did they all die? WHAT.
At least when american teenagers were running around in Carrie 2, Zachary Ty Bryan ended up with his dick getting harpooned. That was satisfactory.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
