Why the world rejects my supreme intelligence

I’ve had a blocked dose for some time now and after blowing down my nasal passage with the force of a Chuck Norris round house kick, I concluded that the problem was the bunged up mucus was too dry and had hardened so wouldn’t come out, no matter how many lumps of brain I blew out my ears. So I tried to be too clever for my own good and remembered that when crying you get a runny nose. This led me to assume that the tear ducts in the eyes were directly linked to my nose, true or not my resultant solution failed miserably. I took this fact and proceeded to tilt my head back and pour water into my furiously blinking eyes. This water was taken from my water bottle that sits stagnant on my desk festering a zoo of undiscovered bacteria. Thus this irritant was no moisturising eye drop, but more like a lemon juice shot through the eye of some nutter alcoholic. The water didn’t flow into my nose. So I’m still sitting here with a blocked up nose although now my eyes feel like they’re on fire.

Why this guy is such a foot (Leg-end)

http://relogik.com/
Found this guy, Danjam Stankovic, a designer, everything he's come up with is awesome. Enough said, check it out.

John (Film Making #2)

This is the second film I made. Just today, John and I were messing about with the camera and using the same very basic techniques as before I managed to create this clip insulting John's intelligence. 

Film Making #1

Someone recommended that I try my hand at making movies, so that night (last night) I took about ten minutes to make this minute or so clip with the few things I had lying around my room. Though the result is admittedly pretty awful it taught me how to use the camera and windows movie maker for editing and adding music and effects. (Sorry for the poor quality I had to compress it for the web).

McCoy's Crisps

McCoy's Crisps (manufactured by KP Snacks which is owned by United Biscuits (sorry but company ownership interests me, for example did you know that Mars, makers of Mars Bars, also make Dolmio sauce?) anyway) are marketed as "Man Crisps", MAN CRISPS: KOOORRR!! PHROARRR!!! Sexism is clever gimmick also used by Yorkie Bars: "not for girls" (Nestle) that successfully increases sales because men buy the product because it's targeted at them and women buy the product because they are told they can't have it. Genius, so how do you appeal to everyone? Discriminate. But I digest...
The thing that Puzzles me about McCoy's is that it is advertised as "Man Crisps" (because they're made with men, by men, for Ben...what?) yet they also advertise, "25% less fat". Now call me a stereotyping, misogynistic, sexist (actually please don't you'll make me cry) but I'm pretty sure most men don't care about that sort of thing? That kind of bribery belongs on an Activia shot, not PHOOAR crisps. Surely this is a particularly moronic oxymoron. So KP, save me the gender confusion (that's why I don't blind date) and instead write: "McCoy's: now 25% less manly" or "McCoy's: everyone crisps" or better still just buy Walkers where you only get half a packet full, because half the price goes to stopping it being sexist.

Sundays

With so much to do my only excuse is I was too busy doing nothing to do it, what? Today I watched “Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas” a film someone recommended to me as the best film ever made and that I now recommend to you to not see it as the worst film ever made. It was weird because I didn’t think it was Johnny Depp because it didn’t look like Johnny Depp, but then again Johnny Depp never looks like Johnny Depp. It seems I’ve wasted far too many hours of my life watching plotless drug-romps and gaining nothing from the experience apart from don't smoke Jeffrey and don't swim in toilets. So I lay in bed watching Terry Gilliam at his weirdest, in my dressing gown, pants and kilt socks, eating chocolate, wondering when this film would end. When it did, my computer-dumb face was in a weird mood so I staggered outside in my dressing gown, pants and kilt socks, eating chocolate with my water bottle and a friend took me back inside thinking I was drunk, no idea why, wherein he asked me to help plot a model relating diseases to population development as if I understood what he was vomiting. Vomiting, great word very on-o-mat-o-p-o-e-i-a-ic like BLAAAARRRGGH! I sat on top of his cupboard and kicked his stuff about and almost fell out the window then fell back here and procrastinated more writing this in this weird Duke mood, I proablably shouldn't talk to people like this, I ploablabry should work, hu? So, yeah I had a great Sunday, how was yours?

What's Wrong With Half-eaten food

A discarded polystyrene bowl on a grass verge made me look away in disgust, the remnants of a meal rotting on its surface. Then this made me think, why was this image unappealing, I love food, what’s the difference? The answer was simple, because rotting food is not nice; it’s horrible and can cause disease, so leftovers are not pleasant. Then I suddenly answered a question I’d been wondering for a long time but never looked at in any depth. In the dining hall (not cafeteria, horrible word) at school the trays of finished meals are stacked in a mobile rack for later empting. I normally eat everything off my tray (including the plates and cutlery), not out of principle but because I love food, and so, when stacking up my tray, I happen to glance someone else’s muffin or something with one bite from it and I become hugely tempted to take it and eat said muffin. But I never do. Something stops me. I’ve always wondered why and now I realise the answer. It’s because anything half eaten is no longer the delicious meal of five minutes ago, but suddenly becomes waste, leftovers and immediately invokes images of rotting matter, bacteria, disease and all things nasty and for some reason this subconscious connection outweighs my hunger, even if the food is practically untouched, it’s not right to eat it. It’s a practical fear that separates us from the poop eating dogs and monkeys. I just realised another thing: I’ve never understood why chefs, mainly on telly always go on about how presentation is everything and if it doesn’t look nice it won’t taste nice. Now I realise that this because there is such a thin line between food and waste, and if the dish is laid out like it’s been half eaten or discarded, then those prejudices I’ve just stated come into being and a perfectly good meal no longer appears appetising, simply from its appearance.

Bridge

-The card game. I understand bridges, bridges make perfect sense, and sense makes perfect bridges... where am I? Oh, yeah on a bridge. I don’t know how to play bridge (the card game) to be honest. It seems that bridge used to be incredibly fashionabubble and instead of watching television people would play bridge for hours on end. Some still do, well those who have been cryogenically unfrozen. Also; why do, in every single pack of cards, they have an extra card telling you how to play bridge, as if people buy cards for the sole purpose of playing bridge. They should have the rules to poker or blackjack. I once tried to read that card, I’ve had nightmares ever since. And what’s with the name? Well, I believe it comes from the inventor: Bridge McBridgeson who devised the game of bridge when, whilst driving over a bridge, was wondering how he could incorporate his job as a bridge-maker into a game of cards that would grasp societies for centuries. His brilliant idea involves placing two tables about a metre apart and constructing a bridge of cards across the two and the person who puts on the last card shouts, “bridge!” to win and the world hasn’t back since. I think that fully illustrates that I know nothing about bridge.

Christmas Music

I wish it could be Christmas every day, then perhaps someone would get bored of the same old Christmas songs and write a few more. I don’t mean just spin out the same old rubbish you normally do, add in some bells and the word ‘Christmas’ to try to make an easy buck on the charts, I’m looking at you Coldplay. All I want for Christmas is for some new music, so that each year I don’t have to listen to the same 30 odd songs like my iPod’s stuck on replay, until Christmas pudding starts bleeding out of my ears. I think they do know it’s Christmas in Africa with band aid screeching at them non-stop for a whole month! "With gifts on the fire and fire on the tree" ...wait shouldn't Cliff Richard be singing in the choir invisible by now? Last Christmas I gave Wham a punch in the face. What kind of advice is ‘never do a tango with an Eskimo’ anyway? There are some songs I do like however: ‘Father Christmas Do Not Touch Me’,‘Christmas at Ground Zero’ and Tom Lehrer’s ‘Christmas Carol’, are all classics in my opinion. Throughout December it seems as if everyone forgets that any other genres exist, nothing but Christmas music is played on the radio, like good music has been erased from existence.  But no matter how many Christmas number one holders I assassinate, people still follow the siren’s call of badly written music. I don’t care, though: if you want to listen to ‘Rocking around the Christmas Tree’ until your brain becomes a mince pie then be my guest, more food for the rest of us...

Why everything needs a Christmas special

It seems unnecessary to me, but everything has a Christmas special. I’m not just talking about TV shows with a one-off each year, but it also in films, video games, books and naked jam wrestling (it’s the same but everyone wears Santa hats). Even if you’re a totally unknown website that has barely got a couple of views, why does a Christmas special have to be the standard practice? I know that the adverts on TV send out an encrypted wavelength that switches the brain’s mood from ‘suicidal’ to ‘Christmas!’ which can only be turned off with a sledgehammer, but that doesn’t mean that everything needs to cash in. If everything has a special it’s not special anymore. No one needs a Christmas special, not Star Wars, not Johnny Cash, not CSI, not Pac-man and not He-Man (yes all of these have had Christmas specials, don’t ask me how it works, it doesn't). Oh, and can you please leave poor Ebeneezer Scrooge alone, no, put down the clubs: I think he’s stopped breathing...