Oh yes, Lordi in my post title. That's an achievment. Do you remember Lordi? Those epic people that one the Eurovision Song Contest a few years back for Finland? Yeah, they were awesome. Anyway, that's all I have to say on that matter, as for once, my title actually has some sort of relevance to what I want to talk to you all about, even though the title makes out that today is the day, but in fact it's 24 hours in the future.
Thursday, the 19th of August. Also known as, results day. Or, the day I die.
Hopefully, I won't die. But it's a very important day. For me, for nearly every person aged 17 or 18 all over the world. Tomorrow is the day many dreams of students going to their first choice University will be realised and, sadly, many dreams of students going to their first choice University will be smashed, to be utterly truthful. Now, I have a horrible feeling I will be in the latter group as I have a sinking feeling I screwed up my French exam in one way or another, be it completely failing at my verb conjugations or simply writing it all out in Welsh as opposed to, er, French. It may interest you to know that I started writing this yesterday, which was Tuesday, the 17th, and I continued it today, Wednesday, the 18th. Which means I'm even closer to my death day.
Why is it that results day is among the most stressful day in all of mankind? I mean, day one of World War One and Two must've been pretty scary. But I doubt it mounts to as much stress as A Level results day in every year since the first ever results day. It's petrifying. Interesting RBJ fact, I'm a shaker. I shake all the time, I have no idea why, I just do, it's impossible for me to not shake. Today however, my shakyness has increased tenfold. Everytime I finish a sentence to think about what the next sentence will be, I stare at my hands quivering with anxiousness. It's insane, I remember being nervous before my GCSE Results, which I told you all about in my awful first post, I won't link to it because you just shouldn't read it, but this is insane.
Tomorrow, be on the look out for my inevitably depressing blog in which I tell you that I didn't manage to get my A for French*, reveal what I got in Drama and History (my guess is a B and C, respectively...I hope) and that I did get to a University - Trefforest Industrial College for the History of Ironing. Sounds good.
So, wish me luck!
*To get into Nottingham, I need ABC with an A in French. Yeah, that's not going to happen.
Wednesday, 18 August 2010
A complaint.
This isn't going to be a very long one, and sadly this might offend some people, don't read if you get offended easily. It's a short query about Talent shows.
We all know the score. To do well in a talent show (let's just say a singing competition) you not only have to have a good enough singing voice, but you also have to have a pathetic sob story to go along with it. You know the one - "I lost my goldfish in a terrible toilet-flushing accident, so I'm competing today in memory of old Fishy." The public get influenced (see, there's my link to my musical blog!) by these sob stories, the judges get influenced by these sob stories which leads to, what I hate the most, not very good singers, getting far because they feel sorry for them. It's ridiculous.
The reason for my mini-rant of a blog is this one. While sitting in my living room, my Mother turned on one of the many America's Got Talent episodes she missed while she was on holiday. One of the contestants on this show was an opera singer. Fair play to her, she had a good voice, she wasn't amazing, she wasn't terrible. But, my little brother made a comment as simple as this - "Boring." Because, let's be honest, not that many 12 year olds take a massive interest in opera nowadays, and he was just stating he isn't a fan of her singing, because he couldn't sit there for 30 minutes or even an hour, just watching her sing in concert. He's one of the many youngsters in today's society that gets influenced by others around him, listening to the Jason Derulo/Ne-Yo/Chris Brown/Justin Bieber love children that are out these days. My Mother's retort to his one word statement about the opera singer? "But she had cancer!" That's exactly my point. Yes, she had cancer, but that doesn't mean that one suddenly has to like whatever she's doing. If someone went on this America's Got Talent program, killed cats on stage but because they had cancer, the public would vote for them. It's bizarre why the public think like that.
Potentially the most offensive post on my blog, but it really pissed me off. Sorry about that.
We all know the score. To do well in a talent show (let's just say a singing competition) you not only have to have a good enough singing voice, but you also have to have a pathetic sob story to go along with it. You know the one - "I lost my goldfish in a terrible toilet-flushing accident, so I'm competing today in memory of old Fishy." The public get influenced (see, there's my link to my musical blog!) by these sob stories, the judges get influenced by these sob stories which leads to, what I hate the most, not very good singers, getting far because they feel sorry for them. It's ridiculous.
The reason for my mini-rant of a blog is this one. While sitting in my living room, my Mother turned on one of the many America's Got Talent episodes she missed while she was on holiday. One of the contestants on this show was an opera singer. Fair play to her, she had a good voice, she wasn't amazing, she wasn't terrible. But, my little brother made a comment as simple as this - "Boring." Because, let's be honest, not that many 12 year olds take a massive interest in opera nowadays, and he was just stating he isn't a fan of her singing, because he couldn't sit there for 30 minutes or even an hour, just watching her sing in concert. He's one of the many youngsters in today's society that gets influenced by others around him, listening to the Jason Derulo/Ne-Yo/Chris Brown/Justin Bieber love children that are out these days. My Mother's retort to his one word statement about the opera singer? "But she had cancer!" That's exactly my point. Yes, she had cancer, but that doesn't mean that one suddenly has to like whatever she's doing. If someone went on this America's Got Talent program, killed cats on stage but because they had cancer, the public would vote for them. It's bizarre why the public think like that.
Potentially the most offensive post on my blog, but it really pissed me off. Sorry about that.
Tuesday, 3 August 2010
I'm a fire and I burn tonight
Oh yes, I used a Biffy Clyro lyric as a title, that has no relevance to what I want to talk about.
I just want to fill you all in on something, and I have a query that I'll ask at the end. As you may or may not be aware, my vlogging career has finally started (which doesn't mean I'll be leaving blogger!). If you don't know, there is a link right above this post, in the red bar, if you just click the one that says "YouTube" then you'll be beamed directly via UFO to my YouTube channel, where you'll see I have three vlogs, if you will.
Now, you may recognise the title of one of them - the Film Reviews one. Yes, I've, kind of, converted my hugely successful (ahem) film reviews blog to video form (which doesn't mean I'll be stopping those on blogger either!). I went away for the weekend, and when I returned, I had numerous e-mails from YouTube, mainly a discussion with CrazyDistortion about video editing, one about a comment I had on my Toy Story review and 2, yes, 2 comments on my Inception review, and finally one from someone called "everydayadventuring" (yes, they have no capitals in their YouTube name, an annoyance if ever there was one), I'll copy what they said to me:
"hi RuhBuhJuh1
I just watched your vlog, I really love it! How did you get so good at making them? Can you take a look at my vid and give me some pointers? Please subscribe if you enjoy it :D"
You can take that two ways. The optimist in me sees that as someone random has actually stumbled across my channel, watched my videos and enjoyed them. Or, the pessimist in me sees that this is just a bit of spam sent by YouTube to improve my moral as my Inception video had a meagre 39 views - and that's my highest. Personally, I see it as spam, but nevertheless, I shall believe that this message is in fact a real person and I shall make a video giving a few pointers from vlogger extraordinaire, RuhBuhJuh1. Yes, there is a 1 there because I fucked up signing up to YouTube under my new pseudonym. Don't take it seriously, I won't call myself RuhBuhJuh1 unless I want to prove a point of some sort. What the point will be, however, I have no idea. We'll see where the wind takes us.
To end, I have a query. Undoubtedly, I will scour the googleness of the Internet in order to find my answer, but to make my post a bit lengthier, I'll ask you on here too. You know Typewriters (Interesting fact: Typewriter is the longest word you can type by only using the top line of letters on a QWERTY keyboard. Did you know that? Didn't think so.)? Can anyone tell me how they work? As far as I can tell, it's magic. You're there, typing away at this magical machinery, and your piece of paper gradually moves to the left as you type more and more words, until you feel necessary to hit it back and it shoots across the typewriter, makes a bing noise, and the whole writing a line of letters (or symbols, as Snefru happily (did you see what I did there?) calls them) starts again. So, let's say you have one letter left to fit on the page before you need to ping it back, meaning your piece of paper is almost as far to the communist side of the spectrum as it can go, but the last letter on that line you want to type is the letter "P." How does that work? I was under the illusion that there were 3 rows of stamps, if you will, that put the letters on the page. Surely the P would be too far away to be placed on the page? Is there some rule that by the time you turn the page into an extreme communist, you can only use words on the left side of the keyboard, like "sad" for example? There is no reason why I chose sad there, I just saw it as the first word I could use on the left side of the keyboard. Or, a solution I thought up while writing this paragraph, are there wires leading from each key to its corressponding stamp? That sounds quite logical. Answers on a postcard, if you please.
To be fair, that was a very YouTube dominated post. I might aswell make one more YouTube reference, watch this video from a person called hexachordal (there's that lack of capital letters again! Although, I like this guy, so I'll let it slide), a YouTube vlogger who makes weird and wonderful videos. This is my pick of the bunch.
The first 40 seconds is all you need to watch, really, but you may watch the rest. It's very bizarre humour, but he is highly amusing. Side note, watch the video "Explorers Four" and try and make some sense of it. I understand it now, but it took me hundreds of viewings to fully comprehend the complexity the video beholds.
Over and out.
I just want to fill you all in on something, and I have a query that I'll ask at the end. As you may or may not be aware, my vlogging career has finally started (which doesn't mean I'll be leaving blogger!). If you don't know, there is a link right above this post, in the red bar, if you just click the one that says "YouTube" then you'll be beamed directly via UFO to my YouTube channel, where you'll see I have three vlogs, if you will.
Now, you may recognise the title of one of them - the Film Reviews one. Yes, I've, kind of, converted my hugely successful (ahem) film reviews blog to video form (which doesn't mean I'll be stopping those on blogger either!). I went away for the weekend, and when I returned, I had numerous e-mails from YouTube, mainly a discussion with CrazyDistortion about video editing, one about a comment I had on my Toy Story review and 2, yes, 2 comments on my Inception review, and finally one from someone called "everydayadventuring" (yes, they have no capitals in their YouTube name, an annoyance if ever there was one), I'll copy what they said to me:
"hi RuhBuhJuh1
I just watched your vlog, I really love it! How did you get so good at making them? Can you take a look at my vid and give me some pointers? Please subscribe if you enjoy it :D"
You can take that two ways. The optimist in me sees that as someone random has actually stumbled across my channel, watched my videos and enjoyed them. Or, the pessimist in me sees that this is just a bit of spam sent by YouTube to improve my moral as my Inception video had a meagre 39 views - and that's my highest. Personally, I see it as spam, but nevertheless, I shall believe that this message is in fact a real person and I shall make a video giving a few pointers from vlogger extraordinaire, RuhBuhJuh1. Yes, there is a 1 there because I fucked up signing up to YouTube under my new pseudonym. Don't take it seriously, I won't call myself RuhBuhJuh1 unless I want to prove a point of some sort. What the point will be, however, I have no idea. We'll see where the wind takes us.
To end, I have a query. Undoubtedly, I will scour the googleness of the Internet in order to find my answer, but to make my post a bit lengthier, I'll ask you on here too. You know Typewriters (Interesting fact: Typewriter is the longest word you can type by only using the top line of letters on a QWERTY keyboard. Did you know that? Didn't think so.)? Can anyone tell me how they work? As far as I can tell, it's magic. You're there, typing away at this magical machinery, and your piece of paper gradually moves to the left as you type more and more words, until you feel necessary to hit it back and it shoots across the typewriter, makes a bing noise, and the whole writing a line of letters (or symbols, as Snefru happily (did you see what I did there?) calls them) starts again. So, let's say you have one letter left to fit on the page before you need to ping it back, meaning your piece of paper is almost as far to the communist side of the spectrum as it can go, but the last letter on that line you want to type is the letter "P." How does that work? I was under the illusion that there were 3 rows of stamps, if you will, that put the letters on the page. Surely the P would be too far away to be placed on the page? Is there some rule that by the time you turn the page into an extreme communist, you can only use words on the left side of the keyboard, like "sad" for example? There is no reason why I chose sad there, I just saw it as the first word I could use on the left side of the keyboard. Or, a solution I thought up while writing this paragraph, are there wires leading from each key to its corressponding stamp? That sounds quite logical. Answers on a postcard, if you please.
To be fair, that was a very YouTube dominated post. I might aswell make one more YouTube reference, watch this video from a person called hexachordal (there's that lack of capital letters again! Although, I like this guy, so I'll let it slide), a YouTube vlogger who makes weird and wonderful videos. This is my pick of the bunch.
The first 40 seconds is all you need to watch, really, but you may watch the rest. It's very bizarre humour, but he is highly amusing. Side note, watch the video "Explorers Four" and try and make some sense of it. I understand it now, but it took me hundreds of viewings to fully comprehend the complexity the video beholds.
Over and out.
Tuesday, 27 July 2010
The little things.
I don't plan on making this a particularly long post, but I think all my imaginary readers ought to know something that I only just realised a matter of minutes ago. The fact that the title of my entire blog is actually 100% correct.
Originally, I saw this entity on the Internet as simply another way to waste many hours staring at a light bulb, similar to what I do anyway, day in, day out. I do, obviously, get bored when I stare at said light bulb, and when I did get bored, I could make up some drivel that I'd had a sudden idea to write about in this blog I have. But, to tell you the truth, half the time I genuinely have no idea what I'm talking about. I ramble and ramble and ramble about anything and everything that comes into my head, literally no meaning behind the posts (apart from a select few, such as my xenophobia rant and, more recently, my World Cup one). I would just fill you all in on meaningless details of my life, how school's going, what I did in the last few months, that sort of thing. In short, I took this whole process of writing paragraph after paragraph for someone to read for granted.
However, I had a conversation with another homo-sapien very recently (their name shall remain confidential until said being allows me to say so) who wants to start writing a blog. This person claimed that they felt that they had nothing to write about whatsoever, leading me to the realisation that, simply, neither do I. And yet, somehow, I manage to squeeze varying lengths of ramblings out of what I thought was a mind devoid of any real creative imagination. The stories I wrote for school in English and Welsh were always a total disappointment, they had a poor ending, zero creativity when it comes to places, names etc. A particular memory of a story is one that I wrote set in the middle ages where my main character was a man named Sir Arjen, after Arjen Robben the former Chelsea player. The second of my characters, King Saloman is a current Chelsea player. It was only afterwards I realised of the repercussions of my King Saloman character. Do you see what I mean? I had to think of two characters, and neither of which were particularly original because of their football references. The fast and furious thoughts that have raced through my mind in the last 10 or so minutes have got my mind thinking.
I may or may not have told you that I have a novel planned. Actually, I don't think I did tell you. I'm thinking of writing a novel. There we go, I did tell you. I've tried to start writing this novel, I think I wrote about 2 pages before I forgot about it totally. I had 2 or 3 stories milling around in my brain, and when I wrote it, I didn't have any structure whatsoever. Evidently, I was under the impression that J.K. Rowling simply sneezed out all 7 Harry Potter books. I was totally wrong. Having read Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows recently, I realised how much thought has to go into writing a novel. You have to think up every link between every character, how they met, what sort of relationship they have. You have to think up a solid setting, a place, real or imaginary, if it's imaginary then you've made your book writing life harder ten fold.
Don't you see, before this conversation (I'd like to point out that it was a very short conversation) I thought I couldn't write at all. I probably still can't, but the fact is, it's like I've had a new wave of creative ability. Just thinking about my novel when writing this paragraph, I already have a new storyline in my head that sounds to me far better than my previous attempts. It's these little things, like this blog, that make you appreciate living in a modern age where the Internet is your portkey, to use a Harry Potter phrase, to go wherever you want. This is such a cliché part of my blog, and I'm sorry for that, but it's weird. I suddenly feel as if I can write at a half decent level!
It's the little things in life.
I went completely off track with what I meant to talk about at the start. So I'll put it in here - I really do love my blog. It gets my creativity flowing, cliché again, but it really does. I've never written as much as I have in this blog in my life before. Add to the fact that a handful of people actually read it, it's a success in my eyes. Plus, something that the homo-sapien I can't name (I'll call them You-Know-Who from now on, to steal another Harry Potter phrase) said that You-Know-Who thought that if You-Know-Who had, I quote, "like, 12 people following, [they'd] feel good." For me, it's not about that. I love what I'm doing with this blog, I use it to vent my frustrations, to shout my happiness to the world. On a side note, this is by far the cheesiest thing I've ever written, but I don't care. This post has made me feel all happy.
I'll try and write a fair bit over the next few weeks, reader, as I have a lot of free time on my hands. You have been warned, an onslaught of posts is coming to a light bulb near you.
Originally, I saw this entity on the Internet as simply another way to waste many hours staring at a light bulb, similar to what I do anyway, day in, day out. I do, obviously, get bored when I stare at said light bulb, and when I did get bored, I could make up some drivel that I'd had a sudden idea to write about in this blog I have. But, to tell you the truth, half the time I genuinely have no idea what I'm talking about. I ramble and ramble and ramble about anything and everything that comes into my head, literally no meaning behind the posts (apart from a select few, such as my xenophobia rant and, more recently, my World Cup one). I would just fill you all in on meaningless details of my life, how school's going, what I did in the last few months, that sort of thing. In short, I took this whole process of writing paragraph after paragraph for someone to read for granted.
However, I had a conversation with another homo-sapien very recently (their name shall remain confidential until said being allows me to say so) who wants to start writing a blog. This person claimed that they felt that they had nothing to write about whatsoever, leading me to the realisation that, simply, neither do I. And yet, somehow, I manage to squeeze varying lengths of ramblings out of what I thought was a mind devoid of any real creative imagination. The stories I wrote for school in English and Welsh were always a total disappointment, they had a poor ending, zero creativity when it comes to places, names etc. A particular memory of a story is one that I wrote set in the middle ages where my main character was a man named Sir Arjen, after Arjen Robben the former Chelsea player. The second of my characters, King Saloman is a current Chelsea player. It was only afterwards I realised of the repercussions of my King Saloman character. Do you see what I mean? I had to think of two characters, and neither of which were particularly original because of their football references. The fast and furious thoughts that have raced through my mind in the last 10 or so minutes have got my mind thinking.
I may or may not have told you that I have a novel planned. Actually, I don't think I did tell you. I'm thinking of writing a novel. There we go, I did tell you. I've tried to start writing this novel, I think I wrote about 2 pages before I forgot about it totally. I had 2 or 3 stories milling around in my brain, and when I wrote it, I didn't have any structure whatsoever. Evidently, I was under the impression that J.K. Rowling simply sneezed out all 7 Harry Potter books. I was totally wrong. Having read Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows recently, I realised how much thought has to go into writing a novel. You have to think up every link between every character, how they met, what sort of relationship they have. You have to think up a solid setting, a place, real or imaginary, if it's imaginary then you've made your book writing life harder ten fold.
Don't you see, before this conversation (I'd like to point out that it was a very short conversation) I thought I couldn't write at all. I probably still can't, but the fact is, it's like I've had a new wave of creative ability. Just thinking about my novel when writing this paragraph, I already have a new storyline in my head that sounds to me far better than my previous attempts. It's these little things, like this blog, that make you appreciate living in a modern age where the Internet is your portkey, to use a Harry Potter phrase, to go wherever you want. This is such a cliché part of my blog, and I'm sorry for that, but it's weird. I suddenly feel as if I can write at a half decent level!
It's the little things in life.
I went completely off track with what I meant to talk about at the start. So I'll put it in here - I really do love my blog. It gets my creativity flowing, cliché again, but it really does. I've never written as much as I have in this blog in my life before. Add to the fact that a handful of people actually read it, it's a success in my eyes. Plus, something that the homo-sapien I can't name (I'll call them You-Know-Who from now on, to steal another Harry Potter phrase) said that You-Know-Who thought that if You-Know-Who had, I quote, "like, 12 people following, [they'd] feel good." For me, it's not about that. I love what I'm doing with this blog, I use it to vent my frustrations, to shout my happiness to the world. On a side note, this is by far the cheesiest thing I've ever written, but I don't care. This post has made me feel all happy.
I'll try and write a fair bit over the next few weeks, reader, as I have a lot of free time on my hands. You have been warned, an onslaught of posts is coming to a light bulb near you.
Tuesday, 13 July 2010
These are the things I could live with out. Especially after that piece of shite.
Did you see what I did there? The first half is part of a song that England used as their official World Cup song - Shout by James Corden and Dizzee Rascal, which to be fair, is a tune. However, I flipped it all on its head with the second part, meaning what is normally an influencial song for England leaving them feeling they could've won the World Cup, now means that they didn't as they were a "piece of shite." Well done RBJ, superb creative skills there.
You don't have to read this one, guys - it's about football.
The World Cup.
Let me just start off by saying that, as you've probably guessed, I'm a huge football fan. Let's not beat around the bush here. Football is such a huge part of my life, I always look forward to the next World Cup, or the next European Championship. Hell, as soon as the regular football season is finished, I'm looking forward to the next one, which, incidentally, unofficially starts on Saturday where Chelsea play Crystal Palace in a Friendly. But you couldn't care less about that. Now, however, I think I might cross off looking forward to the World Cup from my list. It was diabolical this summer. Absolutely diabolical. Why, you ask? Well, I'll tell you.
I'd just like to point out that I'm writing this at, to be exact, 2:36 AM on a Tuesday morning. Yes.
I was looking forward to the World Cup for weeks and weeks and weeks. I kept saying "WORLD CUP STARTS NEXT WEEK AAAHHHH", which is me on a normal day. I do shout things. Normally at people, but never in an angry way. Why, you may ask. Well, I personally have no idea. It's just me, shouting is one of my many past times, which regularly increases depending on the time of day, and the situation. But I digress. Yes, I was excited. The first match? I was out. Excellent. But I'd heard it really wasn't a great match at all. So that's not a great start. I seriously believe that I watched 3 matches for the full 90 minutes all the way through. No word of a lie, I could watch Chelsea for days on end, but this international tournament I just wasn't interested. Wimbledon was on at the same time, I found it far more interesting and entertaining to watch that rather than the World Cup.
The 3 matches I did watch all the way through were England's horrificly bad group matches, which they drew, drew and scraped a victory. Seriously, England were seriously terrible. They played 4 matches in the tournament. How many goals did they score? 3. That's a proper shocker. Rooney, second highest scorer in the Premiership, got 0. Lampard, the most prolific midfielder in Premiership history, got 0. England's goalscorers were Steven Gerrard (now, statistically, the worst England captain of all time. Just throwing that into the mix), Defoe and Upson. None of whom are renowned goalscorers. Capello, the England manager, genuinely doesn't have a clue how to manage an international team, for two reasons. 1) He can't speak the language. He basically has to get his translator to do every interview for him. And 2) He's a prize twat. He's an arrogant, self-obsessed (I think they're the same thing, but as you were) Italian shitfaced fuck who thinks he can just waltz into a normally half-decent International team and balls it all right up. He didn't have a clue. He chose the 11 supposed best players, and made them play a standard 4-4-2 formation. For those who have no idea what "a standard 4-4-2 formation" is, I'll draw a diagram below. With the England team that fucked up in the World Cup.
Glen Johnson-----Ledley King-------John Terry-----Ashley Cole
That's how they lined up in the first game of the World Cup, as in they'd be in those positions across the pitch, with the occasional change where, say, Lampard would go further up the field to support Heskey and Rooney. But you couldn't give less of a shit, could you? Thought not. Anyway, they lined up like that. I'll point out the faults.
1) Robert Green. You must know who Robert Green is. Maybe this picture will refresh your memory.
Yeah, that Robert Green. He's normally a good goalkeeper, but he's no where near World Cup standard.
2) Ledley King. Why was he picked in the first place? This is a player who can't even train at all because he has such a fucked up knee. This is a player who can't even have a kick about in his garden with his 5 year old son because he has such a fucked up knee. I'm sure you can see how he was a fault. Incidentally, he got injured during the first half of the first match, and never played again.
3) Frank Lampard & Steven Gerrard. They can't play together. Simple as that. When you put these two in an England team, it's like putting chocolate on a pile of shit. They look the same, but it's just wrong. They're too similar in how they play. By putting those two in the centre of the pitch together, you're cancelling one of their abilities by making him stay back to help defend, because they're both attacking midfielders. Gerrard isn't even a midfielder anymore for Liverpool, he plays as a striker.
4) Emile fucking Heskey. He's the biggest joke ever to grace a World Cup stadium, seriously. He has 62 Caps for England. He's been playing for England a good 10 years or so. How many goals has he got? For a striker, you should bet it's good. Not quite. He's scored 7. 7 goals in 10 years of football? For a striker, he should be embarrassed. Peter Crouch, the 6 foot 7 inch monster of a striker, was only called up to the England squad two years ago, he has maybe 40 Caps, and he's scored more than 20 goals. How does that work out?
5) Fabio Capello. That really is all I have to day. He's a dickhead.
So there you have it. A comprehensive round up of why England were screwed from the beginning. They never had a chance, and everyone thought they could go on to win it. My fucking arse.
The World Cup was, all in all, utter shit. There was hardly any excitement whatsoever over the course of the tournament. Maybe two good games? By the end, I resorted to not watching any of it, and getting goal flashes from my football fanatic brother. Shocking. And, you'd expect the Final would be half decent. I didn't watch it, but my Dad told me it was an absolute disgrace. This tackle sums it up for me.
On request from CrazyDistortion:
Yeah. No joke. He didn't even get sent off for that.
Fuck you, FIFA, for ruining my World Cup experience.
Interesting fact for you: You'd expect my 3AM blog to be full of mistakes. Turns out, I had one spelling mistake. There we are, readers, trust RBJ to end this scathing blog on a high note!
You don't have to read this one, guys - it's about football.
The World Cup.
Let me just start off by saying that, as you've probably guessed, I'm a huge football fan. Let's not beat around the bush here. Football is such a huge part of my life, I always look forward to the next World Cup, or the next European Championship. Hell, as soon as the regular football season is finished, I'm looking forward to the next one, which, incidentally, unofficially starts on Saturday where Chelsea play Crystal Palace in a Friendly. But you couldn't care less about that. Now, however, I think I might cross off looking forward to the World Cup from my list. It was diabolical this summer. Absolutely diabolical. Why, you ask? Well, I'll tell you.
I'd just like to point out that I'm writing this at, to be exact, 2:36 AM on a Tuesday morning. Yes.
I was looking forward to the World Cup for weeks and weeks and weeks. I kept saying "WORLD CUP STARTS NEXT WEEK AAAHHHH", which is me on a normal day. I do shout things. Normally at people, but never in an angry way. Why, you may ask. Well, I personally have no idea. It's just me, shouting is one of my many past times, which regularly increases depending on the time of day, and the situation. But I digress. Yes, I was excited. The first match? I was out. Excellent. But I'd heard it really wasn't a great match at all. So that's not a great start. I seriously believe that I watched 3 matches for the full 90 minutes all the way through. No word of a lie, I could watch Chelsea for days on end, but this international tournament I just wasn't interested. Wimbledon was on at the same time, I found it far more interesting and entertaining to watch that rather than the World Cup.
The 3 matches I did watch all the way through were England's horrificly bad group matches, which they drew, drew and scraped a victory. Seriously, England were seriously terrible. They played 4 matches in the tournament. How many goals did they score? 3. That's a proper shocker. Rooney, second highest scorer in the Premiership, got 0. Lampard, the most prolific midfielder in Premiership history, got 0. England's goalscorers were Steven Gerrard (now, statistically, the worst England captain of all time. Just throwing that into the mix), Defoe and Upson. None of whom are renowned goalscorers. Capello, the England manager, genuinely doesn't have a clue how to manage an international team, for two reasons. 1) He can't speak the language. He basically has to get his translator to do every interview for him. And 2) He's a prize twat. He's an arrogant, self-obsessed (I think they're the same thing, but as you were) Italian shitfaced fuck who thinks he can just waltz into a normally half-decent International team and balls it all right up. He didn't have a clue. He chose the 11 supposed best players, and made them play a standard 4-4-2 formation. For those who have no idea what "a standard 4-4-2 formation" is, I'll draw a diagram below. With the England team that fucked up in the World Cup.
Robert Green
Glen Johnson-----Ledley King-------John Terry-----Ashley Cole
Aaron Lennon----Frank Lampard---Steven Gerrard---James Milner
Emile Heskey----------Wayne Rooney
That's how they lined up in the first game of the World Cup, as in they'd be in those positions across the pitch, with the occasional change where, say, Lampard would go further up the field to support Heskey and Rooney. But you couldn't give less of a shit, could you? Thought not. Anyway, they lined up like that. I'll point out the faults.
1) Robert Green. You must know who Robert Green is. Maybe this picture will refresh your memory.
2) Ledley King. Why was he picked in the first place? This is a player who can't even train at all because he has such a fucked up knee. This is a player who can't even have a kick about in his garden with his 5 year old son because he has such a fucked up knee. I'm sure you can see how he was a fault. Incidentally, he got injured during the first half of the first match, and never played again.
3) Frank Lampard & Steven Gerrard. They can't play together. Simple as that. When you put these two in an England team, it's like putting chocolate on a pile of shit. They look the same, but it's just wrong. They're too similar in how they play. By putting those two in the centre of the pitch together, you're cancelling one of their abilities by making him stay back to help defend, because they're both attacking midfielders. Gerrard isn't even a midfielder anymore for Liverpool, he plays as a striker.
4) Emile fucking Heskey. He's the biggest joke ever to grace a World Cup stadium, seriously. He has 62 Caps for England. He's been playing for England a good 10 years or so. How many goals has he got? For a striker, you should bet it's good. Not quite. He's scored 7. 7 goals in 10 years of football? For a striker, he should be embarrassed. Peter Crouch, the 6 foot 7 inch monster of a striker, was only called up to the England squad two years ago, he has maybe 40 Caps, and he's scored more than 20 goals. How does that work out?
5) Fabio Capello. That really is all I have to day. He's a dickhead.
So there you have it. A comprehensive round up of why England were screwed from the beginning. They never had a chance, and everyone thought they could go on to win it. My fucking arse.
The World Cup was, all in all, utter shit. There was hardly any excitement whatsoever over the course of the tournament. Maybe two good games? By the end, I resorted to not watching any of it, and getting goal flashes from my football fanatic brother. Shocking. And, you'd expect the Final would be half decent. I didn't watch it, but my Dad told me it was an absolute disgrace. This tackle sums it up for me.
On request from CrazyDistortion:
Yeah. No joke. He didn't even get sent off for that.
Fuck you, FIFA, for ruining my World Cup experience.
Interesting fact for you: You'd expect my 3AM blog to be full of mistakes. Turns out, I had one spelling mistake. There we are, readers, trust RBJ to end this scathing blog on a high note!
Saturday, 10 July 2010
You're off to see the wizard, the wonderful Wizard of Oz.
All I have to say is that while I write this, Wizard of Oz is on the Telebox. That's all I have to say on the matter.
My avid readers may be aware that I've actually been blogging for almost two years now, and as I've mentioned on numerous occasions, exams are the main topic of my posts. I am sorry for such a mundane topic to be the focus of my writings, but my life simply isn't entertaining or action packed enough in order to fulfil your high expectations. Sadly though, I have three topics to wet your appetites today, one of which is the dreaded exams.
June 24th was the day I finished my exams, with the incredibly long French exam. And, in all fairness, it could've been a hell of a lot worse. Everyone in my class hated it, whereas I liked it. As a result, I'm insanely worried about what result I'll get when it comes to August 19th. My results have already been decided, whether I get into University or not has already been decided. Scariest thought I've ever had. Nothing I can do about it now though. I'm scared, readers. I'm scared. History, again, could've been much worse, and though the Britain paper was far nicer for me than the Germany paper, I don't think I did disastrously in either of them. I've already bored you with the Drama details in a previous blog, so I won't repeat myself.
The second of my topics, which leads nicely to the third, is the Summer Holidays. When I'd finished my exams, there was a slight lull while we waited for everyone to finish their exams, but as soon as it finished, I was expecting the flood gates to open leading to day after day after day of endless enjoyment - turns out it's not quite like that. Summer is simply a day of fun, and then maybe two or three days of sheer boredom. That's the honest truth, nothing happens! Which is rather frustrating, but it's what I can expect, living off scraps of money seen as finding a job is basically impossible these days. However, soon enough, Rhys Taylor, Ffion Rees, Ellen Morgan, Sarah West, Ieuan Matthews and I are buggering off to Spain for a week, which should be pretty epic.
Finally, due to my continuous imprisonment within the barren walls of my house, I have bounds of free time. I've tried to pass the time by playing on my Xbox, watching some television, watching the odd movie, but to no avail. Especially on school days, my boredom begins from around 2pm, and considering I arise from the land of nod at around 1pm, that really isn't brilliant. So, having become insanely excited having watched the latest Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows trailer (I'll post you a link at the end as it's totally brilliant. Anyone who hasn't seen it doesn't deserve an existence, in all honesty), I've decided to read Deathly Hallows once again. And I never realised how exceptionally well written the book is before. I know the book inside out, but now that I'm taking my time to read every paragraph in great detail, JK Rowling knows how to use a pen. So many things she says are essential to understanding the ending - SPOILER ALERT - for instance, just before "The Wedding", Harry and Ginny have a moment where they kiss even after Harry had finished their relationship at the end of Half-Blood Prince. Soon after, Ron starts shouting at Harry for "messing her about", which means Harry says something along the lines of "Look, it's not as if she wants us to get married or something!" Originally, I saw that as a simple passing comment, but now, you can see how much time and effort JKR put into writing this wondrous series of books. High appraisal to you, Joanne. Also, according to her Twitter, she hasn't updated it in a while as "pen and paper is [her] priority at the moment." Meaning, another Harry Potter epic? Or the rumoured children's series she's working on? I'm hoping the former, as she's now one of the great writers of my generation, I need another new book series to start reading from scratch.
Reading is such an important part of my life. I can't believe I went through a period of literally months without reading anything. What spurred me to do that? I have Deathly Hallows to read at the moment, and then I have a thriller to read called "The Charlemagne Pursuit", which sounds half decent. By the time I finish that, the seventh Artemis Fowl book should be out! Happy days.
God, I love reading.
Oh, I almost forgot, here's the Harry Potter trailer I'm obsessed with!
My avid readers may be aware that I've actually been blogging for almost two years now, and as I've mentioned on numerous occasions, exams are the main topic of my posts. I am sorry for such a mundane topic to be the focus of my writings, but my life simply isn't entertaining or action packed enough in order to fulfil your high expectations. Sadly though, I have three topics to wet your appetites today, one of which is the dreaded exams.
June 24th was the day I finished my exams, with the incredibly long French exam. And, in all fairness, it could've been a hell of a lot worse. Everyone in my class hated it, whereas I liked it. As a result, I'm insanely worried about what result I'll get when it comes to August 19th. My results have already been decided, whether I get into University or not has already been decided. Scariest thought I've ever had. Nothing I can do about it now though. I'm scared, readers. I'm scared. History, again, could've been much worse, and though the Britain paper was far nicer for me than the Germany paper, I don't think I did disastrously in either of them. I've already bored you with the Drama details in a previous blog, so I won't repeat myself.
The second of my topics, which leads nicely to the third, is the Summer Holidays. When I'd finished my exams, there was a slight lull while we waited for everyone to finish their exams, but as soon as it finished, I was expecting the flood gates to open leading to day after day after day of endless enjoyment - turns out it's not quite like that. Summer is simply a day of fun, and then maybe two or three days of sheer boredom. That's the honest truth, nothing happens! Which is rather frustrating, but it's what I can expect, living off scraps of money seen as finding a job is basically impossible these days. However, soon enough, Rhys Taylor, Ffion Rees, Ellen Morgan, Sarah West, Ieuan Matthews and I are buggering off to Spain for a week, which should be pretty epic.
Finally, due to my continuous imprisonment within the barren walls of my house, I have bounds of free time. I've tried to pass the time by playing on my Xbox, watching some television, watching the odd movie, but to no avail. Especially on school days, my boredom begins from around 2pm, and considering I arise from the land of nod at around 1pm, that really isn't brilliant. So, having become insanely excited having watched the latest Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows trailer (I'll post you a link at the end as it's totally brilliant. Anyone who hasn't seen it doesn't deserve an existence, in all honesty), I've decided to read Deathly Hallows once again. And I never realised how exceptionally well written the book is before. I know the book inside out, but now that I'm taking my time to read every paragraph in great detail, JK Rowling knows how to use a pen. So many things she says are essential to understanding the ending - SPOILER ALERT - for instance, just before "The Wedding", Harry and Ginny have a moment where they kiss even after Harry had finished their relationship at the end of Half-Blood Prince. Soon after, Ron starts shouting at Harry for "messing her about", which means Harry says something along the lines of "Look, it's not as if she wants us to get married or something!" Originally, I saw that as a simple passing comment, but now, you can see how much time and effort JKR put into writing this wondrous series of books. High appraisal to you, Joanne. Also, according to her Twitter, she hasn't updated it in a while as "pen and paper is [her] priority at the moment." Meaning, another Harry Potter epic? Or the rumoured children's series she's working on? I'm hoping the former, as she's now one of the great writers of my generation, I need another new book series to start reading from scratch.
Reading is such an important part of my life. I can't believe I went through a period of literally months without reading anything. What spurred me to do that? I have Deathly Hallows to read at the moment, and then I have a thriller to read called "The Charlemagne Pursuit", which sounds half decent. By the time I finish that, the seventh Artemis Fowl book should be out! Happy days.
God, I love reading.
Oh, I almost forgot, here's the Harry Potter trailer I'm obsessed with!
Sunday, 13 June 2010
One thing.
Once again, this will be an insanely short post, but I just want to pose a question to you all.
Why the hell do you read my blogs? Currently, I hope the standard has risen past the juvenile posts of old, namely the first maybe 20 posts I ever wrote on here? The first post ever is utter drivel, my "That Cheat Gerrard" one just makes me sound pathetic. God, I hope I've changed passed those awful blog writing skills.
This blog was far too short, it was a waste of time, so I'll give you some YouTube stuff to intrigue you.
Finally, penis.
That's better.
N.B. Something went wrong with the YouTube videos, they're disproportionate to the blog. I tried to fix it, but to no avail.
Why the hell do you read my blogs? Currently, I hope the standard has risen past the juvenile posts of old, namely the first maybe 20 posts I ever wrote on here? The first post ever is utter drivel, my "That Cheat Gerrard" one just makes me sound pathetic. God, I hope I've changed passed those awful blog writing skills.
This blog was far too short, it was a waste of time, so I'll give you some YouTube stuff to intrigue you.
Finally, penis.
That's better.
N.B. Something went wrong with the YouTube videos, they're disproportionate to the blog. I tried to fix it, but to no avail.
Friday, 11 June 2010
Exampanicverse Update!
Hi.
Earlier, I basically freaked out to you lot. My dearest apologies, but I did have a panic attack, I felt like I was going to just break down. But, I calmed down, revised some more History and relaxed a bit in front of Junior Apprentice, Modern Family, Big Brother and Family Guy. Yes, I watch too much television, but you should know that by now. On a side note, Big Brother looks like it's going to be a belter this year, it's brilliant so far! Anyway, after my rest, I was about to go to bed, when as usual, my Dad plucks up a conversation about French with me, in particular L'Etranger (the book we're studying). We talked for maybe 15 minutes and it really made me feel so much better about the exam I have on the 24th of this month - French, surprisingly. Now, it's like I've suddenly realised that I can actually do French. I feel so much more confident about my essay, my listening and my translating. Dad's really are a wonderful thing. Except when you ask them to pick you up in the middle of the night in a dark and scary place, commonly known as Pontypridd. Damn you, Last Minute Martin! For future reference, anytime you see "LMM" in a blog, that's what it means. I phrase coined by Adam Hill.
History is still fucked, mind. But that's okay. Thus, I just wanted to update you all on the little relapse I had. So ends my shortest post to date. Be privileged, you only lost a few minutes your life!
Earlier, I basically freaked out to you lot. My dearest apologies, but I did have a panic attack, I felt like I was going to just break down. But, I calmed down, revised some more History and relaxed a bit in front of Junior Apprentice, Modern Family, Big Brother and Family Guy. Yes, I watch too much television, but you should know that by now. On a side note, Big Brother looks like it's going to be a belter this year, it's brilliant so far! Anyway, after my rest, I was about to go to bed, when as usual, my Dad plucks up a conversation about French with me, in particular L'Etranger (the book we're studying). We talked for maybe 15 minutes and it really made me feel so much better about the exam I have on the 24th of this month - French, surprisingly. Now, it's like I've suddenly realised that I can actually do French. I feel so much more confident about my essay, my listening and my translating. Dad's really are a wonderful thing. Except when you ask them to pick you up in the middle of the night in a dark and scary place, commonly known as Pontypridd. Damn you, Last Minute Martin! For future reference, anytime you see "LMM" in a blog, that's what it means. I phrase coined by Adam Hill.
History is still fucked, mind. But that's okay. Thus, I just wanted to update you all on the little relapse I had. So ends my shortest post to date. Be privileged, you only lost a few minutes your life!
Thursday, 10 June 2010
Times They Are A-Changing
Well this is different. I don't know why I decided to change it all around, but it was time for a little spice. My old blog was boring, it was just plain blue and wasn't very nice to look at. This blog has some weird castle building in the top corner which I'll probably look into changing as it's just not me. Well wasn't that a kerfuffle. I won't bore you with the details, but it in short, it involved actually changing the administration of this whole blog. Though, on the plus side, all my Google accounts (Blogger, YouTube, AdSense) are on my Yahoo account. Hurrah for boring you all to death in the first paragraph.
Well, there we go. After 7 years at Ysgol Gyfun Rhydfelen, it's all over. Every lesson, every hour of work is now rendered more or less meaningless, outside of History and French as I still have those exams to go, yes, but Mathematics, Science, English, Welsh, IT, RE, Sports, DT - all of which have now delved into the never ending black hole that is my mind, and will probably never be seen again, with the possible exception of Mathematics, as I will undoubtedly use my Maths skills when I get my dead end job of working in a factory what make pork pies, said the West Country Farmer. Hands up who read that last bit again with a West Country accent? None of you? Oh, okay, moving on. Yes, my school life is over, hardly any of which will be relevant to me in the future. But, without those seemingly irrelevant subjects, my University dream would never be realised, and as it stands, I'm 2 exams away from making it or not. Bloody hell, I never thought of it that way before.
You may recall, or you won't, that my last blog was a xenophobic rant that was pretty much entirely devoid of any great writing structure. Apologies for that, dear reader. Where this blog is going, I have no idea. We'll see what springs to mind.
Exam time has approached. And far too quickly for my liking. One of which has already been and gone (Drama) and I was surprised that it didn't go as bad as I thought it was going to go. The questions were simple enough, and in the third question - you're going to love this - we have to design a stage and set for an unseen text that we read in the allotted time (I don't know if that's the right word...oh, according to blogger spell checker it is! Well done, RBJ, four and a half gold stars for you) and I decided to use a Thrust stage (don't ask). A Thrust stage has a sort of big catwalk leading from the normal stage out into the middle of the audience. Sounds reasonable enough. Until I thought it would be brilliant to add a pond to the end of the stage. If you can't picture it, I actually drew a picture of it on paint, and here's the finished article:
It made me laugh as soon as I'd drawn it, but because I'd thought up the whole symbolism behind this stage, I kept it in to make me more memorable for the examiner, though probably for the wrong reason. Namely, the aforementioned diagram.
History and French still to come. History I'm aiming for a C. I know everyone always says "Aim for the A*!" but to be honest, fuck you all. A C is what I want, it'll get me into Univeristy, as long as I get an A in French. That, on the other hand, I have to get it. Not aim for it, get it. I have absolutely no hope. I'm maybe 2 marks off it as of my AS results. Sounds promising. But looking back I don't think my oral exam went all that well. I stumbled a few times, and even though I kept talking, I realised just after I said it that I got some of my verbs wrong. God dammit. The French exam is out of 98, stupid WJEC making it awkward. I'm going to need probably 90 at least of those marks. Can I do it? No fucking way. Gah. Why did I set my bar too high? Why? For fuck's sake. But then, to get into my second choice, I need a B in History. So screw my aforementioned thought, I'm aiming for a B in History. If I don't get that, or I don't get an A in French, that's it. My life is basically ruined. All my friends will be off to University, and I'll be sat at home, doing fuck all with my life. I can claim I'm taking a gap year, but fuck it, I'm not getting in to University, I might aswell state the obvious.
Bloody hell that was a depressing paragraph. And I think I better leave it at that. I need to learn some more French vocabulary. God help me.
Well, there we go. After 7 years at Ysgol Gyfun Rhydfelen, it's all over. Every lesson, every hour of work is now rendered more or less meaningless, outside of History and French as I still have those exams to go, yes, but Mathematics, Science, English, Welsh, IT, RE, Sports, DT - all of which have now delved into the never ending black hole that is my mind, and will probably never be seen again, with the possible exception of Mathematics, as I will undoubtedly use my Maths skills when I get my dead end job of working in a factory what make pork pies, said the West Country Farmer. Hands up who read that last bit again with a West Country accent? None of you? Oh, okay, moving on. Yes, my school life is over, hardly any of which will be relevant to me in the future. But, without those seemingly irrelevant subjects, my University dream would never be realised, and as it stands, I'm 2 exams away from making it or not. Bloody hell, I never thought of it that way before.
You may recall, or you won't, that my last blog was a xenophobic rant that was pretty much entirely devoid of any great writing structure. Apologies for that, dear reader. Where this blog is going, I have no idea. We'll see what springs to mind.
Exam time has approached. And far too quickly for my liking. One of which has already been and gone (Drama) and I was surprised that it didn't go as bad as I thought it was going to go. The questions were simple enough, and in the third question - you're going to love this - we have to design a stage and set for an unseen text that we read in the allotted time (I don't know if that's the right word...oh, according to blogger spell checker it is! Well done, RBJ, four and a half gold stars for you) and I decided to use a Thrust stage (don't ask). A Thrust stage has a sort of big catwalk leading from the normal stage out into the middle of the audience. Sounds reasonable enough. Until I thought it would be brilliant to add a pond to the end of the stage. If you can't picture it, I actually drew a picture of it on paint, and here's the finished article:
It made me laugh as soon as I'd drawn it, but because I'd thought up the whole symbolism behind this stage, I kept it in to make me more memorable for the examiner, though probably for the wrong reason. Namely, the aforementioned diagram.
History and French still to come. History I'm aiming for a C. I know everyone always says "Aim for the A*!" but to be honest, fuck you all. A C is what I want, it'll get me into Univeristy, as long as I get an A in French. That, on the other hand, I have to get it. Not aim for it, get it. I have absolutely no hope. I'm maybe 2 marks off it as of my AS results. Sounds promising. But looking back I don't think my oral exam went all that well. I stumbled a few times, and even though I kept talking, I realised just after I said it that I got some of my verbs wrong. God dammit. The French exam is out of 98, stupid WJEC making it awkward. I'm going to need probably 90 at least of those marks. Can I do it? No fucking way. Gah. Why did I set my bar too high? Why? For fuck's sake. But then, to get into my second choice, I need a B in History. So screw my aforementioned thought, I'm aiming for a B in History. If I don't get that, or I don't get an A in French, that's it. My life is basically ruined. All my friends will be off to University, and I'll be sat at home, doing fuck all with my life. I can claim I'm taking a gap year, but fuck it, I'm not getting in to University, I might aswell state the obvious.
Bloody hell that was a depressing paragraph. And I think I better leave it at that. I need to learn some more French vocabulary. God help me.
Friday, 7 May 2010
Bless his little cotton socks.
The television has been monopolised by the person with the worst tv taste in the house. I'm tired. I want to watch True Blood. I fucking can't. So I'll write another entry to my blog, number 30 if I recall. 30 entries of mindless drivel, that generally cover these subjects: exams, university, social life, television. I do try and mention some sport from time to time, but I know that no one gives 2 shits about sport, so that doesn't count. One of which has already been mentioned. Let's see if I can name the rest.
What's happened since my last post? It doesn't help that I don't remember when I posted last, but it was quite recently, I think. Ah yes, how could I forget. The bloody election. Last night I watched the events unfold until about 1:45, then I gave up as I had an exam in the morning, but I'll get to that later. The debates got less and less interesting as they went along, the first one was actually very interesting, the second one was apalling, and by the third one I was more concentrating on my pizza than the actual debate. Nevertheless, I did sort of watch them all, so I had a general idea of what was going on, if I could vote (which, unfortunately I can't - damn you parents for conceiving me on New Years fucking Eve!) but I had an idea, anyway. Clegg is a tool, with some good ideas, some bad. Brown is a solid trier, bless his little cotton socks. Cameron's a cunt. On a side note, I believe that's actually the first time I've used the word cunt in my blog. Did you know that? No you didn't, because this "you" doesn't exist as no one actually reads this blog. Anyway, it seems by that summary that Labour is my vote, but no, it was actually Plaid Cymru with some Lib Dem sympathies, thanks to Rhys Taylor. But Plaid was the way forward in my book.
As long, winding hours wound on last night, I just grew more and more frustrated, the epitome of my frustration vented in the form of the announcment of the result in a North Walean area whose name escapes me, but something tells me it's similar to Clwyd. Or Bracknell. One of the two. Yes, my frustrations. The unfortunate man who caused these actions was the bloke who read out the result in said place. He was clearly not a welsh speaking man, but he was evidently reading straight from a phonetically spelt script of the welsh bit. I couldn't help but think "Yes, you've tried, but you made an absolute fool of yourself in the process, so why did you bother in the first place?" The cherry on top of the cake of frustration? The fact the phonetical translation if you will was actually wrong. It seemed it spelled the welsh word "Felly" with only one "l", forgetting to pronounce the "ll" sound. Ridiculous.
Thus, my frustrations seeped away to a sudden bout of absolute hilarity, which can only be described as "The man with his fist up behind Gordon Brown". What a legend this man was. He ws quite literally stood behind the podium during the vote count announcment and during Gordon Brown's 5 minute acceptance speech after he held his seat in Kirkcaldy or somewhere. But, the cherry on top of this cake was his trimphant air punch after his party - the Land is Power party, what a bizarre name - received the absolutely whopping total of 54 votes. In comparison to Brown's 29,000, 54 is not "trimphant air punch" worthy, I say so politely. Nevertheless, as Andrew's told me already, an election would never be complete without a complete nutter. He has my full respect.
So, in the end, the cringeworthy tosser that is David Cameron came out with the most seats, but he was 20 short of the magical 326, so fuck you. And yet, the battle rages on for the Tories to get the Lib Dems in their government to get their 57 seats and therefore shoot passed the 326 mark. Please, Cleggy Weggy, don't turn into a cunt too.
I can't be arsed for anymore, I'm knackered and my eyelids are dropping slowly over my eyes. But, 2 hours of True Blood is a must, so I'll battle through the pain.
Hurrah, I didn't mention University or Exams! Victory for can't be botheredness!
What's happened since my last post? It doesn't help that I don't remember when I posted last, but it was quite recently, I think. Ah yes, how could I forget. The bloody election. Last night I watched the events unfold until about 1:45, then I gave up as I had an exam in the morning, but I'll get to that later. The debates got less and less interesting as they went along, the first one was actually very interesting, the second one was apalling, and by the third one I was more concentrating on my pizza than the actual debate. Nevertheless, I did sort of watch them all, so I had a general idea of what was going on, if I could vote (which, unfortunately I can't - damn you parents for conceiving me on New Years fucking Eve!) but I had an idea, anyway. Clegg is a tool, with some good ideas, some bad. Brown is a solid trier, bless his little cotton socks. Cameron's a cunt. On a side note, I believe that's actually the first time I've used the word cunt in my blog. Did you know that? No you didn't, because this "you" doesn't exist as no one actually reads this blog. Anyway, it seems by that summary that Labour is my vote, but no, it was actually Plaid Cymru with some Lib Dem sympathies, thanks to Rhys Taylor. But Plaid was the way forward in my book.
As long, winding hours wound on last night, I just grew more and more frustrated, the epitome of my frustration vented in the form of the announcment of the result in a North Walean area whose name escapes me, but something tells me it's similar to Clwyd. Or Bracknell. One of the two. Yes, my frustrations. The unfortunate man who caused these actions was the bloke who read out the result in said place. He was clearly not a welsh speaking man, but he was evidently reading straight from a phonetically spelt script of the welsh bit. I couldn't help but think "Yes, you've tried, but you made an absolute fool of yourself in the process, so why did you bother in the first place?" The cherry on top of the cake of frustration? The fact the phonetical translation if you will was actually wrong. It seemed it spelled the welsh word "Felly" with only one "l", forgetting to pronounce the "ll" sound. Ridiculous.
Thus, my frustrations seeped away to a sudden bout of absolute hilarity, which can only be described as "The man with his fist up behind Gordon Brown". What a legend this man was. He ws quite literally stood behind the podium during the vote count announcment and during Gordon Brown's 5 minute acceptance speech after he held his seat in Kirkcaldy or somewhere. But, the cherry on top of this cake was his trimphant air punch after his party - the Land is Power party, what a bizarre name - received the absolutely whopping total of 54 votes. In comparison to Brown's 29,000, 54 is not "trimphant air punch" worthy, I say so politely. Nevertheless, as Andrew's told me already, an election would never be complete without a complete nutter. He has my full respect.
So, in the end, the cringeworthy tosser that is David Cameron came out with the most seats, but he was 20 short of the magical 326, so fuck you. And yet, the battle rages on for the Tories to get the Lib Dems in their government to get their 57 seats and therefore shoot passed the 326 mark. Please, Cleggy Weggy, don't turn into a cunt too.
I can't be arsed for anymore, I'm knackered and my eyelids are dropping slowly over my eyes. But, 2 hours of True Blood is a must, so I'll battle through the pain.
Hurrah, I didn't mention University or Exams! Victory for can't be botheredness!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)