Irony and Idiots

Hello again my lovelies :)

How lovely to be speaking to you. Yes I should do this more. I know. I'll be better. I've got someone on my case whipping me into shape about it now which is actually great. Means I don't put it off for the sake of sitting on my arse some more. Because I've pretty much mastered that.

Aaaaaanyway...what should we talk about? That's a good question. I've been bitching at almost anyone who would listen for the last few days about my brother. That's been a treat for them. I tried to keep it localised to my family, because, well, they understand, but I couldn't. Especially as he called me at midnight Saturday and talked at me (not to me, not with me) for an HOUR AND A HALF! Fuck dude....I was trying to complete Fable 2. The best laid plans of mice and men and all that. Such grand plans. I wanted to watch the F1 in the morning, as did he, and yet he continued to talk to me until I had not enough time to get a decent night's sleep before watching it! If only I could explain to him what irony was...

I should stop. He may well read this and get sad. Then call back.

So what else has been happening? I've been watching Dexter. That's awesome. Though by the end of season two I have been wondering whether I should identify with a serial killer quite as much as I have been. Worrying times...especially when coupled with Alec suggesting the other night, apropos of nothing, that I was the most likely of his friends "to grab a knife and just stab someone in the heart". I suppose it's possible. I get angry at the stupidest little things.

I was shopping earlier and I felt a murderous rampage brewing when, while attempting to purchase a football for common-based japes and indeed, possibly, some larks, I was confronted by a massive queue (of the sort of uber-chavs you only find in the Portsmouth job centre and Sports Direct shops), and only one fucker serving. Grrr...it's sunny. You sell sports equipment. Put two and two together and realise that maybe some of these people might want to buy a tennis racquet or a pair of shorts on a day like this and put some more people on the counter! Instead they were all just lolling around (not laughing out loud, but the old-school interpretation of the term - that would have been creepy. All these workers just wandering around the shop, not helping anyone and instead just maniacally laughing in their faces). These people don't ever help you. They just try to sell you more than you need. Like Shoe Repair Creme ("it keeps your shoes in tip-top condition - it's got Protraineron X50 in it which is great for trainers") or any other fucking impulse buys nobody asked for.

I hate that shit. Selling you things based on basically ambushing you and pelting you with nonsense until you give in. I want to hurt those people. I get it in Game now as well. One of the places I used to adore going, just mingling around, browsing the games, seeing what bargains I could uncover or just keeping an eye out for what's new, maybe playing the latest console release in the corner to get a feel for it while saving up money. And it was sunny all the time. I swear it was. And the summers lasted for at least 11 months of the year.

But now, no. It's all changed. Ah capitalism. It's all about the power sell now. You can't mingle in Game. You get Kevin - 22, in his fucking purple shirt and with his big, shit-eating grin - come up and ask you if you need assistance, or, worse than that, just try to offer it without being asked. I was looking at a few games a month or so ago and this guy came up while I was reading the back of the box and said "would you prefer the pre-owned version? It's a pound cheaper". A POUND? Really? How you spoil us so! I'll immediately go out and spend that extra Free Money on....ermm....well...a lottery ticket? A McDonalds hamburger? No, I'm alright thanks, I'd rather not line the pockets of this company that has become so fucking disgusting to me, just another cog in an already sickening machine. The problem I have is that pre-owned games sales give nothing to the developer. You know, those lovely people who actually MAKE the game you're playing. The ones providing such enjoyment. And then you get Game, who are the chief high street stockist of these beautiful gems of escapism, who are actively trying to kill the very market they're ostensibly working on behalf of. Bah, it makes me mad.

But sod it if I'm paying £45 for a fucking new one. It might be shit.

OK, ok...less ranting now. Or maybe just a change of target. I feel like ripping somebody a new one today, as you may well have guessed, but I just can't figure out who best to destroy. Overall, I'm just sick of idiots. They're fucking everywhere you turn. Just doing their idiot thing, talking bollocks. In a ladies clothes shop I happened to be in earlier in town (not perving - well ok, not just perving, I was in there with my mate Zoe), we overheard this woman chatting on. Well actually no. It wasn't overhearing. It was just hearing. She was shouting across the shop. About her drinking habit. Most people would call it a problem, but I don't think she considered it that way. Going on about how her friend should go out instead of staying in because "I end up staying in every night and opening a bottle of wine and watching that SHIT tv and I just end up finishing it all myself and shouting at the SHIT tv and feeling really depressed". Across the shop. Thanks for that tidbit of information about your life that none of us asked for. Funny though, I have to admit.

I'm gonna end this one now and maybe work on another particular slice of idiotdom to target next.

Peace, love and giggles. Hahaha no I'm kidding, don't worry.

War, famine and depression :-)

The Dan

Alex Zane has a punchable face

Ok so this might not be as targeted a blog as it seems from that title, but Marcel was just watching Rude Tube and I couldn't help but think it. He really does. And I want to be the guy to do the punching. I just don't like him. He's a smarmy prick, and if any of the girls reading this fancy him, go punch yourself in the vagina, now. It deserves it. It should have better taste.

Slightly forceful opening there, but I stand by it. So what should I talk about? Not sure really. I just felt like having a little bit of a rant while I'm sat in on a Saturday night with no money or prospects. Mmmm, how I love life right now. And clearly, it loves me.

That being said, I've had an alright week. Hung out with Chris, which is always a giggle, and watched an awful lot of Cougar Town, which is just brilliant, so I shan't complain too much. Though given that I'm not up to an awful lot, I should really be concentrating on the creative side of my life. Believe it or not, I do mean this blog, to a certain extent. It doesn't strike me as being particularly creative either, but I started it to try and store comedy ideas online so I didn't lose them. Most comedians carry a notepad around with them all the time to jot down ideas. Great plan. Except I'm shit. I forget. Everything. Always.

So I decided to just rant away on here and try to put new ideas into my phone when I deem them good enough. That's half my problem though, I self-censor. I don't think most of my ideas are any good at all so don't jot them down. Thus removing the opportunity to return to them later and do a second draft that would actually make them funny, or combining them together. Meh, I'm a dick. Oh well.

So what should I talk about? Damn that's tricky. Maybe I'll just slag myself off some more for a while and try to write something funny later or another day. Because I'm not feeling that funny today. The most hilarious thing I've seen all day was Tottenham's woeful attempt at scoring goals against bottom-of-the-table Wigan earlier. Fucking pathetic.

So yeah, my paintings are shit at the moment as well. Oh well. I can't be arsed! I've got so lazy with them, I just want to cover the canvas as quickly as I possibly can and get onto another one, thus the black foregrounds and lovely blended sky look I've gone for. It's just easy. I could knock one up in 15 minutes. But ask me to do anything with detail and I'd rather grate off my foot. Dunno why, I just can't do it right now. I need to challenge myself, but it's hard to get motivated and inspired, especially when you don't officially have any reason to get out of bed in the morning. Ok, afternoon. Picky fuckers.

I'm wondering whether I should even bother carrying on with this, as it really feels as if it's going nowhere. Let's see what 'comedy' thoughts I stored in my phone shall we? I have "Tony Barbados". Just Tony Barbados scribbled in. Though I did think that was funny. It was just a fake name Chris cooked up while taking the piss out of me, and I decided that it was an epic band name, so I now need to get yet more creative and actually learn my bass, so I can be one half of the Tony Barbados nu-funk beast. You know you'd listen if that was the name.

Oh yeah and I just found the thing I wrote on my first day at TLC that I forgot to share with you last time. This basically summed up for me what this whole experience was going to be like. I was waiting for the bus because I'm a lazy cunt and couldn't be bothered walking (piss off it was cold!) and this guy also waiting for the bus sneezed.

So I thought to myself "Dan, you need to go into this with a good attitude or you'll be back home by 11am", so I said bless you. Like a good Christian. And instead of just saying thanks, like you might expect, this dude slowly walks up to me and says in response "I'm blessed enough as it is thanks"

What? Stop being creepy, old man. That's just a weird thing to say. Oh, so then you follow it up with: "I can show you..."

Oh fuck. He's gonna show me his cock. It's 8:20am. There's no chance I'm ready to see old man cock at this time of the morning. I've not even had a cuppa. Cuppa before cock, that's always my rule. Except after C.

So he continues..."I can show you...the secret to eternal life". Oh shit. I'd rather have seen his cock. It'd be less disgusting to me. I did worry briefly that he was going to show me his cock and then kill me, but then he started to tell me how you live forever.

I'm struggling not to laugh in his face at this point. It's hard, believe me (ooh matron). But he only gets as far as point 1, which I fear is the only step he was told as well. "First of all, you need to get yourself a good Bible." Hmmm, yeah, not one of those dodgy black market Bibles with Steve in the lead role and lots of wookiies in it. A good one. Maybe he meant laminated or something.

Then he tells me something which again I struggle to not laugh at. He says: "Some people say it's out of date. I tell you, it's more in-date than any book in the world right now. Seriously."

Hmmm, really? Is it mate? Are you sure? Cos I can think of a few more in-date books than the Bible. The Very Hungry Caterpillar for one. Windows 95 For Dummies being another. And Courtesan Etiquette in the 1700s.

Fucking Christians. Do you think he'd have forgiven me if I'd stabbed him with a pen?

The First Flirty Smile

So this was a workshop exercise from my 'how-to' book that I did while outbound calling at that hell hole :)

Isn't it lovely before it all goes hideously wrong with a new partner? The calm before the restraining order, I call it.

I think we should be more bureaucratic about it - like you officially register your interest in someone via email. Sod the romance, this is the technology age!

Surely there's an App for that. Integrate it into Facebook, whatever, I don't give a shit just get it done!

That was you just point your camera at somebody or enter their name and then you tick a box to say what you want from them. These range from Possible Spouse all the way through to One Five-Minute-Behind-The-Bins Stand.

Or there are the more obscure options:

I just want to follow you home

Let me lick your feet, or

Be my new mummy

Then the recipient (victim?) gets a little alert on their phone or computer with a cheesy picture of you doing the double-thumbs-up with a flashing message underneath it that reads:

PISS ON MY HAIR?!?!

That way you avoid all that awkward 'reading the signs' nonsense. I can't do that shit. It drives me crazy. Unless the girl is wearing a neon flashing sign with arrows pointed up her inner thighs that reads 'Get in me!' I really struggle to catch them.

I currently rely on the tried-and-tested British technique of staring, immediately followed by hiding. You look, they look back, you look away. You wouldn't want them to know that you liked them, after all, would you?!

That would be ridiculous. Then you just might end up happy, and we just can't have that. It's not on. We're British.

If we, as a nation, weren't constantly moaning, we'd be walking around like headless chickens. We need to vent, and thus we need stuff to vent about. Our heads would literally explode from the build-up of pressure if we didn't moan.

I mean, look at America, they go around being polite and nice and all 'have a nice day' and don't like to moan. They can't praise enough. Everything is awesome. Everything. But that pressure builds and builds underneath the surface. that pressure of being less intelligent that the person they're talking to, possibly.

And then, it builds up to such a level that they have to go and start a pointless war just to get it out of their systems.