Hunt for Henry

Yeah ok sorry about the delay with the latest post. I can almost hear your breath being baited from here. By some sort of respiratory fisherman, with maggots of anticipation. Well, I don't have internet at home any more and I've been a bit busy in work. I do only mean a bit, but for some reason I've still avoided talking to you all. Maybe it's because I have to do all the work - seriously, put your back into it, people! I just rant and rant and...nothing! You're all crap friends...

So what's been happening? The new house is now coming together really nicely. I have a fully working bed, which is always a lovely novelty, and the little details are being hammered out. You know, once we get a hoover. We're three lads, do you really think the urge to hoover is so great that we will rush out of the house and immediately begin a Worcester-wide Hunt for Henry? No. We sit down and have a beer. Because that's what men do. Or so I've deduced from watching Desperate Housewives and Gossip Girl.

Actually TV is the most fun part of my life right now, and that's not sad STOP SAYING IT'S SAD! mainly because of one show that if you know me, you'll know I'm becoming more and more obsessed with week by week. The genius that is...Breaking Motherfucking Bad. Motherfucker. Seriously, it's almost painfully good. If any of you reading this have not seen it, just sort it out, and I do mean before you read the rest of this post. But then come back, 'cos else I'll be all lonely. And lonely Dan doesn't post funny blogs. He posts blogs about how girls hurt him and all that jazz. God, that guy is annoying.

Along with BB, there are some other TV points I'd like to address. Forgive me if I'm repeating myself, but to be honest, if I am it is not without good reason. The Newsroom, first of all. Or as I like to think of it, NEW WEST WING! But, like, sort of, not anything to do with the White House. It's smart, funny, dramatic, at times both weighty and light, and because it's written by Modern Day Shakespeare himself (copyright pending) Aaron Sorkin, the dialogue is so packed with genius that an hour-long episode contains enough zingers to make a tower of Tower Burgers.

Community is coming back and I'm getting more excited by it by the day - any fans of the show should check out this awesome Q&A thing on Reddit (yeah I don't know what it is either but I'm 28 now so give me five years and I'll catch up - just as the kids move on) that creator Dan Harmon did. He's recently been fired as the showrunner, which results in some interesting questions and, more surprisingly, honest, open answers from the big beard god of American sitcoms. Here's the link: http://www.reddit.com/r/IAmA/comments/yne9x/i_am_dan_harmon_creator_of_community_writer_of/

Oh yeah watch Workaholics. It's fucking funny. That's all I'll say on that one for now, but seriously, fucking funny people. Enjoy.

What else have I been watching? Well, I've actually got back into wrestling. At the age of 28. Cos I realised that the geeky stuff I was watching before wasn't getting me chicks and I had to remedy the situation. Consider it done. They're flocking now, attempting to break down the door of the house, in what can only be described as Beatlemania-esque behaviour. But I am enjoying it - it's by turns brilliant (CM Punk and everything he does) and hilarious thanks to sub-Hollyoaks levels of dialogue and acting. In fact, merge those two programmes together and you might improve them both. I'd quite like to see the cast of Hollyoaks battered and beaten, even in a fake way. If any of you want to know why I like wrestling, there's one match I can point you to. No Mercy, 1999. Edge and Christian Vs The Hardy Boyz in a tag team ladder match. Thanks to the magic of the internet, you can watch it right now, so, you know, do that. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UiYFALkiZB8

Aside from TV, my Scott Pilgrim obsession doesn't appear to be dwindling. I'm desperate for my Sex Bob-omb tattoo and I've just got hold of the new hardback colour edition of the first book, which is just lovely. Really lovely. I've not started reading it yet because it just looks so damn pretty that touching it with my dirty paws just seems like it would sully the loveliness.

I should probably have an angry rant, right? Any of the long-time readers of this (hey there, my family!) will probably attest that I'm funniest when angry. So what is there? Well my boss is annoying me. He has this awesome way with words, that just fills you with a sense of glee and achievement that can't help but motivate you to succeed on a daily basis. You know I mentioned all that hard work I'd done on my lab? Making it function and look great, sweating and straining and drilling and 'illin' (alright so I couldn't think of something else and wanted just for a minute to pretend I was a rapper ok?!). Yeah well my boss comes back from holiday, inspects my handiwork, and mentions to one of my colleagues "almost looks professional, doesn't it?". GOD DAMMIT! Why add the extra word? He has this uncanny knack of taking a nice sentiment and adding just enough moronic lack of empathy to take it over to just being a little bit insulting. Just what you want in a manager.

Random thoughts this week:

• Summerslam was fun
• Holding my laptop over my head on the balcony to get wi-fi reception from the pub just to download Summerslam...not so much
• People at work don't get my sense of humour. Either that or I'm not that funny. So definitely the first one. Shut up.
• I still think it's better to make a bad joke than not make a joke at all
• I'd quite like Alison Pill to be my wife
• I don't like having to carry an umbrella AND sunglasses to work because Mother Nature seems to be going through the menopause and is having mood swings
• I am actually messy. It's been confirmed. Oh well
• I want to get into playing my bass...so I can become Scott Pilgrim and find my Ramona. Not sure Andy is up to being Wallace Wells though, which kinda sucks.

I think that's enough for right now, because to be honest, not a huge amount has been happening to me of late so to continue would probably just leave you wanting to claw your own eyes out of your heads in boredom. That's probably not what would actually happen though is it? I mean that's an extreme way to avoid a blog. You'd probably just stop reading it, go back on Facebook and look at pictures of kittens cuddling tortoises, or whatever shit meme you think makes you quirky and unique.

I'll save the Facebollocks talk for next time. Feedback is always appreciated - just a 'like' makes me feel like this whole time sat on my own siphoning my brain into yours has been worthwhile. If you made it this far without kittens, I salute and thank you.

"...but I like being lazy!"

Alright let's do this...

So this week has been interesting, so say the least. Last weekend was meant to be a cleaning/tidying/whatever around the new house, carpet cleaning and all that jazz. Instead, Steve's initial plan for "a quick pint at the King's Head" (our new local) quickly deteriorated into lots of pints, far too much money, and a bitch of a hangover on Saturday. Hence, no cleaning. It's ok though right, you've still got Sunday. Yeah there's me waiting in on Saturday night after Steve calls and says he'll pick me up on his way back from go-karting to go and watch The Raid over his. Sound, that'll be a nice chilled night, leaving us fully energised for tomorrow. Nope. I got a call at 3am saying he was drunk and not even home yet, and another at 9 to tell me he was on his way home. Well I wasn't about to do it all on my own, so I stayed in bed most of Sunday and watched Curb Your Enthusiasm. Much better.

Then Monday happened. Oh, Monday, you little bitch of a day, you. It's hard enough already, us working folks will testify, to deal with work on a Monday morning, let alone a text argument. I received a shitty text at like 11am from my flatmate, followed by a shittier one after my brief reply. All about washing up. I'm not gonna berate him by blog - that's cowardly and I'm not a fully innocent part in this, I'm generally a fairly useless person - but I just couldn't handle it anymore. With all the anal cleanliness (I hope you know I'm talking about someone being anal ABOUT cleanliness, not that he had very stringent rules on how clean bumholes should be - well ok I've never asked him but that never came up during the living arrangement), the generally not clicking socially, missing all my friends, still not feeling like I had a home, and having to shell out 800 fucking quid on rent and deposits this month, it was just too much for me.

So Dave at work (legend) drove me over to the flat, I packed up all my stuff, dumped it in the back of his car and drove it over to the new place, all within Monday's work lunch hour. Maybe over the top, but I just couldn't stay there anymore. I was honestly on the verge of tears just through being overwhelmed with shit. So...long story short, I now live at the new place. With no bed lol. Well ok the bed is coming, I have been assured despite being banned from my former residence, and after this weekend everything should be gravy.

Parallel to all this, I've torn my lab asunder. That is, I've split it between two rooms, one down the hall from where I've been. Which is great - I've had less than too little room for the last four months - but it was a grand ol' effort getting it in. It gave me a chance to be a man though, and I'm always grateful for that. Honestly, you've never seen someone so secretly chuffed that a tyre has punctured than me cos I know I'll be telling people the tale of my oily hands and being gruff and full of testosterone at the roadside.

So basically I spent Thursday, Friday, Monday and Tuesday at work hauling cabinets and workbenches and shit around, drilling holes in walls etc, and Monday onwards after work doing basically the same shit at home. I was exhausted. Seriously though, I lost so much water weight on Monday through sweating that I looked FIT by bedtime :P

It's been fucking knackering, but it will be worth it, now that some painting has been done, holes in the walls filled, carpets cleaned and crap thrown away. Mostly by us, even though we're paying rent every ruddy month. Grr, old ladies can be so lazy, can't they?! PLUS - no internet for FOUR TO SIX WEEKS! God damn! How am I gonna survive that? I'll tell you how - I'm gonna walk to the end of the balcony with my laptop and steal wifi from the pub we overlook. That's what I'm gonna do. Even if it's shit. I still win!

I realise this hasn't been hilarious, but it's caught you all up on my busy week and hopefully explains why I'm too mentally and physically exhausted to be able to manufacture jokes in the factory of funny that is my brain. You'll live with it. Because you don't have a choice - if you're reading this bit, you've already suffered through the crap and I win again! haha! Sucker :P

I'll think of something funny to chat about soon, and I'll try to get some photos of the new place up when it's shiny and lovely :)

Shenanigans

So, it's Monday morning, the sun has gone, replaced instantly with its wet, grey, moody bastard of a cousin. That's definitely the shortest summer I remember. When I was a kid, summer never had a drop of rain and lasted for at least 9 months of the year. Nowadays we're lucky if we get a week without a downpour. I keep having to take an umbrella and sunglasses to work - that's not normal. I don't like it. At one point, I was using both at once on a walk home. It nearly melted my brain.

So what happened over the weekend? Good question. Friday was probably the last barbecue of this short summer, but was thoroughly lovely. Except I was still in a bit of a mood at myself because whilst buying said BBQ paraphernalia at Asda, using one of those self-serve little fuckers, I managed to leave £20 cashback sticking out of it and just walk away, making the meat considerably more expensive. Woops. The worst bit of that was that I saw someone in front of me do the exact same thing and it didn't affect anything. I still left it there. I think it was karma, because I was fully prepared to take that girl's tenner. I wanted it. But then she came back, and I left my money as comeuppance for being a money-grabbing bastard. The best bit was explaining it to Steve, and my subsequent realisation. I'll act it out for you, you know, textually:

"I nearly got a free tenner just then"
"Oh right nice how?"
"This girl in front of me left her cashback but then came back just as I was about to take it and OH FUCK I DID IT MYSELF AND LEFT TWENTY!"

Yeah. I'm a dickhead. Oh well :)

That opening ceremony malarkey was alright really, wasn't it? Quite impressive actually. All the talk of real fields, real sheep and a story being told just sounded like hot air mixed with bullshit - a hellish concoction - but actually, that Boyle lad did it again. No, not Frankie. I think the bit with The Queen might have been a little different had Frankie Boyle been allowed free reign over the ceremony.

My favourite bit had to be the Industrial Revolution section - that was class. The towers, then the casting of the Olympic rings and their ascent into the air before raining down a golden shower upon those below. Ahem. Well that's what it was! It was a shower, and it was gold, right? So stop complaining. That was in your head! Dirty, dirty reader...

Moving on...and Saturday morning means chimnea shopping, as is customary. We in Britain ritualistically get up early every Saturday morning and go shopping for chimneas or chimnea supplies. It's just the way we were raised. Yeah Steve wanted to get one for his mum and had heard about a place that did just lovely ones. They did not. They did shit ones. We left. But not before I'd bought myself some devil bangers and rizla.

A pub lunch later and we're on our way to Big Bad Brum to watch The Dark Knight Rises on their "Giant Screen" - basically an IMAX. That was rather lovely. I'll tell you what, that screen isn't small. I won't go into the film's specifics, though I would like to, because, you know, spoilers! Maybe I'll dedicate another post to it later in the week. We'll see how bored I get. For now I'll leave it at "it's really good".

Saturday night was then to be spent drinking with the guys that accompanied us to the cinema, plus a few of their friends. This was fine, except I didn't really know anybody and they were all talking about shared memories and people they all knew etc. So I just sort of stood. Yeah, like a boss. It was fine, but you know that situation is just horrible when you're in it, though you don't blame anyone. And I wasn't really feeling the night anyway, then being outskirted (yep, just made that up and it rocks) just makes you worse, and I was all quiet and sulky for most of the evening.

It wasn't too bad though, the lads were nice, and when we had moments we could share, it was great. I told them my HILARIOUS story about being groped by a man, and they laughed, but the funniest moment of the night came when Steve bought us all sambucas and, upon knocking his back, just instantly threw it back up again, including his previous pint. It was just nonchalant though, it didn't knock him off his stride. He hadn't felt sick before, or after, or even during, really. It just hit his stomach, the stomach said no, and it came back. On the floor, in the beer garden of Heroes. Classy, real classy. Funny as fuck though, especially when he realised nobody has noticed, so just sachéd to the other side of the table and continued his evening.

Ermmmmm so Sunday was spent in bed, mostly. Then in the pub. Because that's a healthy way to live. It was all Steve's fault, obviously. But six pints each and no food since the day before meant that the little skinny man couldn't handle any more and went home to go to bed. At 7pm. Yeah, we're suave! It was a nice day in the sunshine with a few beers though, and I ended it with a fucking moosive chips and cheese with mayo, which made my waistline cry but I'm pretty sure my tongue had an orgasm.

I think thay might sum up the weekend - I'll have a think and see what else I may have missed for next time. If anyone wants to suggest anything they'd like to read me rant about, get in touch. Otherwise, I'll speak to you soon, so you can go away now. Go, live your life. Don't let me hold you back. You're capable of great things. Let yourself be open to them! And other nonsensical motivational-poster bullshit. Bye!

Ah crap I forgot to add a title!

Alright so I'm in work again. Doing nothing. Well ok not nothing, I'm in Facebook, texting, reading about Spurs, now writing this and contemplating whether or not I want some cereal. I do. But I shall be good.

This may all be a bit soon for another post, especially give that the last one contained very little actual information, or anything that one could point to and say "that made my life better, that did". Though I feel that if you talk like that, maybe it's not so hard to make your life better. Just point that person towards an ice cream van and a copy of The Sun and they'll have a great summer.

The sun's quite nice isn't it? And on the flipside, it's far too fucking hot isn't it? As a big lad anyway that is carrying a few extra pounds (of sweets in his pockets), I swear to a deity I don't believe in that I'm actually melting. Ok maybe I should swear to someone/thing that I actually hold in some regard. Ermmm. Ok next time I exclaim my disapproval at the heat I shall say "Breaking Bad, it's hot!" That works. Walter White is a god, in a way.

I had a hectic weekend planned, but unfortunately tonight has had to be cancelled. No trip to Dudley for me. Devastating. But tomorrow is Dark Knight Rises, followed by getting wankered. then Sunday I've got visitors from Southern Lands, which will be novel. I can giggle at how the coastal people live and talk, and maybe poke them with sticks a bit.

I'm trying to think of what I can actually do today. I'm waiting for electricians to finish, so I can move stuff into my new room, which then leads to rearranging the old room and getting the lab into some sort of fighting shape. But in the meantime, I may as well just sit about and type, right? Seems only fair to be getting paid for.

I'm worried that I started this without a point, and thus it's just deteriorated into me talking nonsense about nothing. But then if you're reading this, you know me, and know that this is exactly how I am in person anyway, so it's all good.

I'm not going to go on about how I'm not respected or listened to in my new job, or how they don't treat it like my lab at all and leave me feeling like a button-mashing monkey man, cos I have hours left here today and I can't be bothered to get into a mood about it. Needless to say, it's fine. I get paid enough to ignore it. And drink a lot. That always helps.

Right this is really falling to bits, so I'll get out of your way. Thanks to everyone that wished me a happy birthday, that was nice. Gotta love how Facebook makes you feel super-popular and well remembered on your birthday, when really they get something saying "Hey, remember this guy you went to school with and never spoke to then and never speak to now but inexplicably you still added as a facebook friend just to see what they look like now? Yeah well it's their birthday, so feel the guilt and send a message, you horrible person." And I get a lovely message :) Brilliant system.

Oh and one final point, to all you ladies out there that have been enjoying Fifty Shades of Grey, I'd be interested to know what you think of these short stories I wrote years ago. They're filthy, by the way. Before any of my family click on the bloody link. Yeah please don't. But yeah I've been told they're good, and if there's that much bloody cash in bonkbusters I might have to change career! They're at http://danssexystories.blogspot.com :)

Much love,
Big Danny Boomtown

Oh so summer starts NOW does it? My mistake...

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

New Life Version...what are we on now? Four?

Hey peeps.

I am currently sat at my new desk and I thought it was probably about time that I wrote something to let everyone know that I'm not dead. I hope those of you I haven't responded to yet aren't upset. Family shit + new job - you understand.

Anyway, back to me, as is the want of this particular writer. I am now in the great city of Worcester! (it's here by the way http://bit.ly/HgNCQu - I didn't know either). It's quite nice actually. I'm in a nice, white, open office with high ceilings and about nine other people. Really small company. Oh yeah and I have a lab. It's all mine! (cue lightning strike) bwahahahaha. I'm still in the process of getting the hang of it but I'm sure I will. I've reorganised things a bit so far, moved some machines around, made it make a bit more sense. I think I've done alright for week one.

And I'm living in a hotel in the centre of town, which is pretty swanky. Less than a minute to the bar from bed. I can live with that for a while. Though it is of course lonely, so I have been online and on the phone quite a bit. And I bought a couple of games to play, which is always lovely. The problem I keep finding, however, is that I'm not simply satisfied with a game being all I do. I know that's silly - I grew up just playing games, but somewhere along the way, in my teens, I found that I liked the TV on as well. I like watching(ish) and listening to a TV whilst I labour between checkpoints. But that doesn't work with 'proper' games with story. It's fine with FIFA - I've got that mastered - but LA Noire last night kept interrupting my viewing of Wrestlemania, and that's just not on. Nobody puts Rocky in the corner.

I don't really want this to become a really long piece about the minutiae of my life here - it's much more fun if I tell you all individually, that way I can improve my telling of it and add jokes until when I tell the very last person, they'll be in stitches.

Needless to say, there is a girl amongst those nine other office dwellers and she is not unattractive. This is god news. She seems nice too. I don't know anything about her personal life yet, this being Day 4, aside from the fact that she lives in Birmingham and has housemates. But I also know that she has pretty green eyes, and that's all I really need to know. Any more than that might put me off. I don't want to know that she has a boyfriend and six cats and enjoys hiking up hills and pogoing back down. Scratch that. The last one - if that's true, I want to know. That's pretty epic.

Leave me a comment on here or Facebook cos they make me smile. There's a good reader :)

Love you all. Now fuck off.
The Dan

A Sport Named Whiskas

This has been pretty overdue, so sorry to all the…ermmm…one regular readers, for my uselessness. I shall endeavour to be better from now on.

So what’s new? Well many of you will know that I am now unemployed once more. Yep, quite the talent I’ve got there.

And it’s my own fault – I had a bit of a nervous breakdown and got £100 out of a cash machine on the company credit card to use on t-shirts and booze. In my defence, those are the two best things to spend money on though – especially when the t-shirts feature one Mr Scott Pilgrim. Yeah they still kick ass. They’re taking the edge off being a useless waste of oxygen for the time being.

So, in summary, Cambridge was shit. It didn’t work. Lots of posh people on bicycles. That’s really all I could see there. The main problem was that I wasn’t living in the city. I was living in Royston, about 10 miles south. It’s a shithole. Please, never go. Well, that is, unless you just want to sit around in a knock-off Wetherspoons. That’s all there is there. And I was living in a bed and breakfast for three months. Lovely as it was to not pay rent, get my washing and ironing done and not be tied into a contract, I could never relax properly. And I was always eating out at the pub because I had no means of cooking. Yeah, doesn’t sound too bad, until you see my waistline. I’m a tubby fuck right now, and I don’t like it. Couple that with the shaving of my head – it’s getting thin and I can’t afford haircuts right now – I’m starting to look worryingly like I did when I was 20, and nobody wants that, least of all the female population of the UK. They want pretty, confident Dan. They told me so – there was a protest outside my flat. It was weird, but flattering in a sort of backhanded way.

So what else should I talk about? I guess I should tell you all that I’m back in Portsmouth. That feels good, I have to say. Back by the sea and more importantly, back amongst people that I don’t just despise. Makes a big difference. Plus there’s the Honest Politician here, and that means £3 doubles with mixer and free pool. Can’t say fairer than that, can you? I bet it’s making a few of you wonder if you should move to Portsmouth. You should. Be near me. I’m epic.

Also, I’m on antidepressants. May as well throw it out there to those of you that don’t know. They’re really good – totally unexpectedly as well. I turned them down a year or so ago because I was in the “those things are fucking stupid and you get addicted to them” camp, but now I’m realising why they are actually, you know, prescribed by doctors. If I hadn’t been on them, I would almost certainly have fucked up immeasurably and been on the verge of suicide right now. I don’t think I’ve got the balls to kill myself though. It’s supposed to be a coward’s way out – and I get that – but really, it must take at least a bit of cajones to throw yourself in front of a bus or go buy a rope, ceiling hook and learn how to tie a noose. I’ve always wondered how suicidal people know how to tie nooses. Especially pre-internet. I mean there’s probably a tutorial on it on Youtube for it now, but it doesn’t look incredibly simple. Knowing me I would tie this piddly little thing that would snap as I kicked the stool away and all I would end up doing is spraining my ankle in the fall.

I have been feeling funnier in the last couple of weeks, since I got back, especially when riffing with Chris, but forgive me if this isn’t coming across right now because I can’t recall all of the hilarious stuff I’ve come out with. Just trust me, it was fucking funny. Oh oh oh. I have to tell you something that’s been tickling me for three days now – Chris told me that he has a new cat in his house now, and it’s been named – not by him, I must add – Tennis. That’s not an autocorrect error. That’s not my mind accidentally slipping out of my ear mid-sentence. That is a cat. Named. Tennis.

Tennis.

Tennis.

Drink that shit in. Is that not the most ridiculous name for anything you’ve ever heard ever? I mean, aside from a sport. Though it’s not got that lovely Ronseal logic of football or basketball to it, it still sort of works. I guess if you were to apply that basis of thinking to the world of tennis it would be racquetball, which is already a (rather similar) game. Or maybe runny-thwackyball. Or, judging by the last women’s game I saw, possibly gruntball. They do love a grunt nowadays. It’s all well and good when it’s a lithe Russian 18 year old, but when it’s a beastly Hungarian with arms the size of my legs, it’s just damn intimidating, and it puts you off your stroke.

Yeah, ok, resorted to lowbrow humour there. Apologies. Maybe I should stop now while I’m behind. After all, I have got my big telly back now, and there’s an awful lot of Assassins Creed Brotherhood to be played yet. And FIFA. And Mass Effect 2. Mmmmm games. Maybe I won’t bother getting one of those job things for a while yet. I’ve found I quite like sitting.

Until next time, when I promise I’ll try to make it funnier.

Dan-gerous.

The Return of The Dan (once again)

So, welcome back Me! Nice to see you again.

Thank you Me, that’s very kind of you to say. But I think you’re a bit of a douche.

Sorry to all (both?) of my regular readers for this taking so long to get around to. I’ve been shit. I have no real decent reason to excuse my absence. I’ve been busy…ish. This new job is fairly hectic. Actually that’s a lie. It’s just taken it out of me, mentally. For a while it really was hectic. I spent an entire week with some Chinese colleagues which was fun, but tiring. Up to Sheffield, back down the next day, meetings, tours, talks, training, dinner out each evening. That made it better. I actually had steak five nights in a row. Needless to say, I’m getting a bit fat.

But anyway, that passed. Well, after the Poland trip it did anyway. That was interesting, but just really quite Polish. You have to wonder why you’re in a meeting when the people on the other side of the table can’t communicate with you. But I was. So I just sat there and looked polite, all the while trying desperately to stay awake.

Now, though, it’s all got shit. They don’t like me, basically. They think I’m lazy and uninterested. Which I suppose is fair…mainly because I’m not that interested. And I’ve always been lazy. But aside from that they should really appreciate me, no?! I’m double-layer awesome, whatever that means. I’m like an awesome sandwich…with salad…and mayo…and…I think I ruined it.

So I had a disciplinary, where they basically wanted to sack me. Which is always nice…especially when you’ve just started to feel like you’re doing some half-decent work and starting to feel a part of the team. But oh well. Woe is me. I told them that I was depressed – which I am – to explain matters, and it’s down to the company doctor tomorrow to determine if I’m a big fat porky teller. That, and if they fire me, can I sue them under the Disability Discrimination Act 1995. That’s right bitches, I’m disabled now! I might try and get into the Paralympics next year. I reckon I could take a guy with no arms in the swimming, something like that.

Not really sure what else to say. I’m not gonna go into everything that’s happened. I wanted to write about Nick’s wedding and the Weezer gig but too much time passed really and it’s not at the front of my mind. Brief recap then: I Best Man-ned the shit out of the wedding. Totally knocked it out the park, and looked sharp in my suit. Fuck yeah. And Weezer – well, the ticket got delivered to the wrong address. So instead of it arriving at work the day before the gig, it arrived in Portsmouth. So I had a choice. Do I discard my beloved ticket to my beloved Weez or do I act like a fucking madman and shuttle run to Pompey to fetch it?

…So halfway down the motorway, having taken a half-day at work, I start questioning how ludicrous this all is. But hey, gotta do it right? I went to the post office, grabbed the ticket, high-tailed it to Richmond, train to Vauxhall, Tube to Brixton…bit of fried chicken, couple of pints…and then they came on.

And boy did they ROCK! My lord…just…incredible. They opened with Undone. That beautiful little drum start…mmm…I might have made a small mess in my pants. Then it just continued getting better. And better. Jonas. Scorcho. Pink Triangle. The Greatest Man That Ever Lived. Then, just as I thought it couldn’t get any better…Only In Dreams followed by fucking PARANOID ANDROID! Yeah I just about exploded.

Ok enough of me geeking out. For many of you the previous paragraph just contained an awful lot of random words placed next to one another with initial caps, but to me it was simply one of the greatest nights of my life. Worth all the day’s driving. Worth the £50 petrol, the £10 train ticket. The overpriced beer, the sweat making my t-shirt stick firmly to my man-bosoms. It was all just amazing. If I could live that night again I would do so until the day I died. And I would die happy. Sweaty, but happy.

Ok this hasn’t been that funny but I’m gonna try to get better with that. Hopefully these antidepressants won’t dull my genius sense of humour. That would just be punishing the world needlessly. And the world didn’t do anything wrong, did you? No, you’re a good world. There’s a good world! I might have lost my mind. When I find it I’ll let you guys know.

Peace and love.

New Life v2.0

Ok, so let's give this thing another go. It's been a little while, hasn't it? And hopefully now I'll actually be capable of making this funny again, rather than simply bitter and twisted. Well, we can but hope. I'm still me, after all.

So I'm now not in Portsmouth. Nope. No more wonderous nights in Scandals or evening pool at the Poli. I will miss the Poli. I already do, to be honest. But it's fine - I've made some great friends down there and I'll visit regularly. I think you can all tell what I'll be doing when I'm there as well, seeing as those two things I suggested as examples of things I miss do basically revolve around getting hammered. I'm still me, after all.

So...Cambridge baby! Well, Royston, actually. Yes, like Royston Vasey. But I'm not actually living inside Roy Chubby Brown (not that I'm saying there's not enough room. I think you could house at the very least a medium-sized Polish family within that man). Nope, this is a ickle town/village/thingplace with not a lot going on. Very quaint, but just not much there. Like a town version of Boris Johnson, really. But less funny.

So I'm in a B&B, which is....boring but fine. I do get pub dinners every night which is just lovely. Can't complain at that. Though my waistline is starting to. It's not so keen. It likes it when I don't go near pubs. I hate how we fight.

New job as well, obviously the reason I'm here. I'm sat in work right now actually, just finished and wondering what to do with my night. I'm trying to talk myself into, and then out of, going to the gym. I know I should, but I sort of don't want to. I've only gone once since I joined last week, so my body hasn't adjusted and I know it will hurt if I do a big workout. I'm basically just lazy to be honest, but hey. I don't care. I am missing football Thursday evening though, which sucks, so I should go do something. That way I can at least justify a big fat meal or two the next couple of nights.

Ah damn it. The sun has come out again and it's tempting me outside quite badly. I don't want to fight the urge for much longer, so I'll keep this brief for today and fill you guys in properly (ooh er!) sometime soon.

I've made a couple of new friends, seemingly. Which is awesome. A guy and a girl from my office who both seem very nice. The guy got me into the football game - instant best mate, in guy terms. Give me football and I give you my heart. And the girl and I had a pint yesterday and a bitch about the world. and those of you who know me well know that's a sure-fire way to get me to love you as well. So it's all good.

Right, I'm gonna go get a burger, methinks.

Laters, bitches.

Ah I'm an idiot

Just generally, you know? Always shooting myself in the foot or shoving my foot in my mouth, or shooting my foot while it's in my mouth and blowing my brains out. Metaphorically of course. I'm not that flexible!

I'm just sick of being a gullible twat with women and not having enough self-confidence or self-respect. But that's only because I'm a twat, so it's understandable.

So yet again I fucked up another "thing" with a girl. I say thing because they're never relationships. I never get that far. It's always a case of "yeah, you're lovely, but I'm just not in a 'relationshippy place right now' and all that shit. And I sort of try to believe it, because in the short-term it's easier than hearing: "It's because you're shit in bed and clingy."

But in the long-term, that shit would be helpful, you know? A bit of brutal honesty which would help you become a better catch for the next person who comes along. But it never happens. Well, maybe it does, but only if you get into a bit of an argument about things, and no girl ever does that with me, because I'm too nice. Fuck being nice, I totally need to learn how to come across as a callous knobhead who only wants them for their abilities as a semen receptacle. Those are the guys they stick with.

And I know it's not just girls...guys are bad at this too, probably worse. Because we fear the tear. Not a tear like you get with paper...well, unless you have a particular gift from nature in your pants, but like tears, out of your face holes.

Guys are absolutely terrified of the tears because we don't know how to deal with them. It's never really been a factor for me - no woman ever wants me enough for me to have to break up with them. Result.

But wouldn't it lead to a better world? Wouldn't you appreciate it, in all honesty, if somebody you had got close to told you exactly how you fucked it all up? I've been single for about 7-8 years and I know I would. I'm clearly a fucking nightmare to put up with and if that could be tempered slightly, it would possibly reduce my chances of ending up owning 14 cats and living in my own filth.

I know it's not really going to happen and I do know a number of the things that I've done to fuck things up by simple deduction and reading between the lines. I come across as too interested too soon, which is only exacerbated by the fact that it's been so long since someone could stand me. I end up clawing for their adulation almost regardless of how fantastic they are. I can know that it logically is going nowhere, but I just end up becoming so desperate to be the one in control, the one who is adored and chased-after, that I accidentally push it too hard too fast, almost demanding confirmation of their feelings before I've fully formed my own.

Meh it'll be ok. Maybe therapy would help, but then again, those of you who have read a few of these will realise that it didn't quite work out so well for me last time. I want proper tv-style therapy. I want a fucking chaise longue dammit!!

I'll work on it, and I'm planning to move - if things go well in my interview on Monday then maybe to Cambridge - and I think that will help me. Getting back into a proper job will resurrect my confidence and self-respect - even if it doesn't fix my self-loathing. Then I can get into a city where 90% of the women aren't orange by their own hand. A city where the idea of a good night out doesn't generally involve glassing someone. A city where an educated man isn't seen as a threat. That would be a novelty.

Ok I'll end this one there. It got some shit off my chest, even if it wasn't that funny, so thank you very much if you managed to make it to this point. I'm genuinely flattered that any of you would read these at all, and all comments are ridiculously appreciated - they keep me going. You know, unless they're from my brother.

I'll have a bitch about being back at that shitty call centre next time - maybe that will be funny. Until then, be good. And if you can't be good, at least steal me a present :)

I've been Dan, by the way.

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.

Back in the Game

Okay, okay, so it's been a while. You missed me. I get it. I've been busy ok?

Stop laughing. I know anybody who reads this knows me and is well aware what a lazy sonofabitch I've been over the last few months but leave off - I was depressed. Not that that is a legitimate reason to stop laughing at the world, but it did make it harder to share things with you all.

But now...well I'm still jobless but I have at least remembered why I started this in the first place. Partly to craft new material for stand-up (yeah it's hardly going speedily, with me being such a wuss, but hey) and partly just because I love to write, especially like this. I don't have to worry about using clever words or using the correct sentence structure. Fuck that. I iz just gonna rite wot I want how I wants it. Blud.

Ok enough of that. But you get my point. I will at least endeavour to spell correctly with you all. Consider it a life lesson. Bad spelling ain't sexy. Well, not if you're trying to ensnare a wordy geek with sexy stubble and eyes you could get lost in, anyway. Ahem.

So on with the bulk of this thing. Not that I'm sure what that is. But I may as well fill you in on what's been happening in my life. I've done a lot of sitting. That was pretty fun. Sleeping is ace, truly. And my Xbox Achievments score has literally tripled. Take that, capitalist definition of success!

But aside from that, I did in fact work in a call centre for a bit. Yeah. Me. As I'm a freak boy I couldn't help picturing it as the brief for a slightly poor sitcom or film. "So yeah, you've got this guy, and he's all smart and stuff, and his life falls apart and he ends up working in a dead-end call centre with a bunch of orange morons and hilarity ensues. Then, by the end, he realises a few things about respect and not judging a book by its cover and walks out of the building on his last day with Don't You (Forget About Me) playing and, with the camera behind him, punches the air in silhouette." Fuck off, I love the Breakfast Club. It's an homage, it's not a rip-off.

That reminds me - everyone go download (or legitimately purchase...haha) Community season one. It's just genius.

So yeah, the call centre. It didn't start too well. We were training on Tuesday, with work starting on the Wednesday. Always a good sign. And apparently we were to be trained on inbound calling - this is for Debenhams by the way - and then the subsequent day, doing outbound calling. After not being trained. Yeah. I know it's not exactly rocket science, reading from a script, but we at least needed to be shown how to use the phone systems, you would have thought.

So I managed to annoy the two women "training" us before the end of the first day. I have that sort of talent. They were fucking idiots though. I wish I'd just said that to their faces. But I didn't I gritted my teeth. and then it got worse.

Fast-forward to Day Two. Outbound calling. It takes the techy team 2 1/2 hours to get everyone up and running, and thus, we are behind on our targets. Well, the management are behind on theirs, but, you know. So I'm making a call, reading out this fucking script about a new sale - yeah, we were calling Debenhams card holders to let them know there was a sale coming up, really - and this tiny little witch comes up and starts shouting at me to get my "wrap time" down. Now this is the time it takes from when you finish a call to the time you return to 'ready' and make another. In this time you have to 'code' the call -successful or otherwise - and click things in a sequence at just the right time to get back to 'ready'. If you do it too quickly, you remain in 'wrap' and someone comes and breaks your knees.

So I've bit my tongue about the first, ridiculous instance, and this fucking bitch won't stop. She decides that everyone is too slow - which is weird, because we're all so well-trained on the phone systems we're using - and makes us all stand up. Not to tell us off. To carry on working. Like a fucking concentration camp or some shit. Not impressed. We all have to stand until our combined wrap times come down to somewhere near 3 seconds. At this point I think you can imagine the sort of Itchy & Scratchy-style ultraviolence I wanted to bring on this woman. I'm talking Mortal Kombat rip-off-her-leg-and-beat-her-stupid-face-with-it levels of anger. But I managed to hold it in.

It was tough, but after that and her subsequent Worst Pep-Talk Ever, in which she stood up on a chair and said "I know it's been tough and manic and you've been getting to grips with it all...but it's not going to get better. It will only get harder." it was kinda hard to still be on her side. Mmmminimum wage :) Again, tongue bitten. Not sure how I still have a tongue really now, but thankfully I do. Otherwise this would be my only way of staying in contact with the world and, well, despite how grateful I am to everyone who bothers to read this, there aren't many of you, so I'd be quite lonely.

Ok ok so I'm basically just rambling...what are the chances?!...shut up schizophrenic sarcastic commentator voice on my life!

But I did meet some nice people. And some fucking morons. And drama queens. And orange people, lots of orange people. Though even if they were nice, they also did tend to come out with brilliant quotes. I don't remember them all but my favourite one revolved around a customer enquiring as to a possible delivery to Denmark. The girl calmly placed the customer on hold, turns to a few of us and casually asks: "Guys...where's Denmark?" ...pretty funny on its own, but ok, if you're talking specific location I don't really know. It's Nordic. It's Scandinavian. It's over there ->

But it was the next bit. Oh lordy. So we've had "Where's Denmark?" now follow it up, bring it home, fill us with joy..."is it in Sweden?"

BOOM! I laughed for a week. Seriously. Awesome ignorance. Just awesome.

Oh yeah and even though this isn't as funny I'm gonna share it before I go - a woman actually called up because she had bought something in a jar from Debenhams, and couldn't get the jar open. She didn't call a friend or neighbour. She called customer services. About opening a jar. That tickled me.

Ok so I'll try to do this more often for all your enjoyment, plus my own twisted sense of mind. I wrote some funny shit while I was there as well - I'll write it up later or tomorrow maybe. Get excited. It's actual jokes. No, really.

Much love.

Pro Life

So this is again one of my freeform blogs. Because the others were so clearly structured and considered.

I guess I have one or two things to talk about, but that being said, I'm not going to come on here and just bitch about my job. 1) Because I do that enough at work, and 2) Because now I know some people are reading this, it becomes slightly more than just my outlet for thoughts that probably won't turn out funny. And that would be selfish. That's what therapy is for.

Speaking of which, I gave that a shot. Well, there's the whole issue of my dad and my occasional overeating that I'd like to address, so it seemed like a worthwhile exercise.

You know when sterotypes smack you in the face? When you realise from whence they were born initially?
Yeah, well my therapy bloke came to greet me and couldn't have been more clichéd if he'd been Frasier Crane.
He wandered over to me in sandals, slacks and a 70s-style shirt, with a long, curly ponytail dragging behind him. Oh yes. Stereotastical!

He also kept talking in that annoyingly obvious "calming" tone, with lots of hand gestures like a hippy Tony Blair. And they're annoyingly simple. It's almost patronising, but of course they mean well. But talking about the difference between feelings and thoughts and behaviour...I mean meh. When I'm in a mood it's all three in a distorted mess. I don't fucking know.

So throughout this assessment and hypothetical further "treatment" appointments I have to put aside my somewhat layman's knowledge of psychology gleamed from years of being generally interested in it and self-psychoanalysis and talk in baby terms about it. "Dan made a boo boo. Dan sad." Fuck off, I seem to be better at your job than you are at this point. I may as well have an NHS-funded mirror at home.

Ok moving on from that, what have I done? What's been funny to me. Oh yes, you'll like this. I got my car broken into. Yeah, funny as fuck I know. The funny thing about it wasn't the act itself though. I mean I don't know why they chose my car, maybe ease or intrigue or they just plain liked the colour, I don't know.

What I do know is that they didn't take my radio. It's nothing special but it's a CD player and I guess it's worth more than nothing, at least. They also didn't take my (admittedly paltry) collection of CDs in the glove box. They opened it, looked at them and just thought "nah, I'm really not into old-school emo, I'll leave them. And the radio's been tainted by them, so leave that too."

No, they took my tent out of the boot. A lovely, eight-ish-year-old, slightly mouldy (honestly, what self-respecting man hangs up an already-packed-away tent once he's home?), £30 tent, two lighters and two boxes of Crunchy Nut Corn Flakes. Yep. And they left one box of those as well. They were on offer - £1 a box. Don't look at me like I'm weird.

Fucking tramps breaking into my car for food, shelter and a means of starting a fire. Don't get me wrong, I'm glad I don't have to replace my CDs and radio...it's just a little bemusing. We live in the times when a car stereo is worth less to thieves than breakfast cereal. Think about that for a minute. It melts your mind, right?

So right now I'm currently sitting in my office at work - yeah, believe it or not I'm still holding down a 9-5 - and everybody else has gone home. It's nice and quiet. And I'm being paid to write nonsense for all you fine people to read, which is lovely. I guess that officially makes me a professional comedian, what with this being ostensibly a comedy blog and all. Bonus. No need to get on stage - I've already made it.

So as for this gig...whenever it happens to be (as I'm struggling to come up with a coherent full set from the vastly different conglomeration of ideas on here), the bookers want some blurb about me. So I've been tasked with writing my own biog - the industry term for biography. Yeah, us showbiz types know the lingo. Professional comic right here.

So basically that's your usual fluff about how "he blends postmodern wit and audience interraction with surrealist songs about badgers and artichokes to create a blissful, transcendent smorgasboard of comedic delight".

Yeah, for mine I was thinking about "If you're lucky he'll make you giggle 'til you wee a little."
What you think?

Professional comic. Right here.

Hmmm

The question is, where to go from here?



I'm not entirely sure myself. I'd hardly call myself seasoned at this. Or even lightly spiced. I'm just a man(boy) rambling away his thoughts and stories, hoping to come up with something hilAAAArious. Yeah, it's surely only a few flicks of my fingertips away.



Well Chris suggested I talk a little more about being fat. I guess there's humour in that. Though when you are bigger, you do tend to fall a little more on the sympathetic side of the fence.



That being said, I have become quite adept at ripping the piss out of myself purely because when you're at school getting called named and having jokes made about you, it always hurts less if you're the person to make the joke. Even if you did just call yourself a tubby funster.



Ok, so yeah, I used to be big. Like proper American-style fat. It's easy to do, trust me.

Step 1: Eat what you want, when you want.

Step 2: Repeat.

Job done.



So I looked distinctly different than the man I have grown into (out of?), the handsome buck that stands before you now (yeah I know you're reading this but I'll hypothetically be performing it on stage so bear with me, you cynical bitch). I had a shaved head - yes I'm aware that it's only a matter of time before that becomes the case again.



Do you have any idea how annoying it is to shave your head for around eight years, then grow it again only to find out that you're losing it?

That's like having a really nice cake and keeping it hidden for a special occasion and then when that occasion finally comes...you're bald and no-one wants your cake, you weirdo.



So aside from the lack of hair, I also had an eyebrow piercing. Because as I say this to you now, I know you were thinking 'my my, that boy is terribly gangster. I'm surprised he doesn't have piercings and some fly ink.'



As you can imagine, picturing me as you are, bloated, pierced, bald and with quite the rack on me, you know...you just know...I did well with the ladies. Oh yeah. Form a queue girls, keep calm. There's more than enough to go around.


So in my teens I predominantly met girls online. Well, not many, a few. But I did meet my first - and only real - girlfriend that way. On AOL of all things....oh yeah. It's a good job we didn't get married because telling the grandkids that story would have gone down like a lead balloon.

But it's a good way to meet people. You grow to like them as a person before you judge the physical side. Which is great, particularly as a bald, bloated virgin. But of course there is a downside. I was fairly lucky with my ex. She wasn't incredibly hot, but she did it for me...at least before our relationship became stale and she went from a size 10 to a 16. Chicken nuggets and chips followed by Ben & Jerrys and no sex = chubsters. Teach the kids that maths in school. If you're gonna eat junk food, at the very least get yourself laid to work off some calories.

But you can fall foul of the exact situation that gives you an advantage online. Now I consider myself a modern, intelligent, thoughtful and caring man who absolutely puts personality above looks in a potential partner. I will avoid really hot vacuous girls because they just don't do it for me (I might cut this out of any real gig in case there's a really hot, vacuous girl in the audience just looking to sleep with me...you understand).

But you occasionally end up going on a date with a proper heffer. Or a scary weirdo, the sort that's got the real crazy eyes. She looks like she might tie you up in her bedroom, and not in the fun way. More in the way that she'll only feed you a biscuit once every 12 hours and force you to watch The World At War while reciting her family tree as she attempts to breathe life into your understandably flaccid member by hitting it with a kipper. Beware online girls...just think, if you were really really hot and awesome, would you really hunt online for someone instead of going outside? Exactly.

New blog

I'm thinking of starting a new blog about the perils of being a well-endowed man.

It's called Tripods and Tribulations.

Pure Terror

So I thought I might talk to you about being scared. More specifically, the theme park version of being scared.



Now I don't do theme parks well. I don't care for heights, or speed, especially when I feel completely out of control. Yeah fuck it, I'm a big gay, whatever. I don't like spiders either. And I'm fine with it.



I have been to Disneyland in Florida, when I was 15, and actually loved it. Went on a few rollercoasters and really enjoyed them. My first was the Rock 'n' Rollercoaster (featuring Aerosmith). Yeah I never knew a rollercoaster had to 'feature' anything but speed and the occasional big drop, but apparently what was missing was an ageing rock band trying to act. Yeah, it really made the experience.



Good fun though, it was. One of those fast-start jobbies. Firing you up to 50mph in a second and a half or something. Then into darkness, with neons and all sorts flying about your head. Proper cool stuff, and the darkness helped take away a little of the "ohmygodisn'tthatthegroundcomingtowardsmyface?" feelings.



The thing is, though, that all the rides at Disney felt safe. I never thought I was actually going to die on them. There's always that thing in the back of your mind that they can't run these things and let thousands of kids on them every day if they're not mechanically sound. Well ok, maybe only I think that way, but I was an odd 15-year-old.

Fast forward a couple of years and we find ourselves at my next theme park experience. Flamingo Land, Yorkshire. Yeah, people have called it Eurodisney 2. It's that fucking special. Like special needs special. It's in Yorkshire for fuck's sake.

I think an indication of the quality of the rides at Flamingo Land comes in the fact that they need a Zoo tacked on to keep people's interest. Hence the name. It's not just a particularly oddly-themed park in which every ride is pink and stands on one leg. And they only serve prawns.

So I've clearly been badgered into driving to this god-forsaken place by my then-girlfriend, and so we trudge around, me dragging my heels and moaning about everything like a proper well-balanced grown-up. And so we have to go on some rides. Fair enough. If we're not here for that then we're only here for the incredibly uninterested-looking animals. Well if I was a tiger living between York and Scarborough I'd probably be wearing a frown most of the day as well.

In all honesty, it's actually not a bad park. It's got some decent rides and some decent animals, which is really more than you expect for a zoo/theme park in Yorkshire, and from somewhere than chooses to call itself Flamingo Land. I mean really, if you're looking to get people excited, maybe don't focus on the Flamingoes. It just doesn't make sense to me. Call it Lion Land, Rhinos and Rides, just not fucking Flamingo Land. That's like renaming Disneyland something like Ralphland after the guy that sells the candy floss. It's not why you're there.

Aaaaanyway, I urge you to go to Flamingo Land, genuinely, because you'll have some of the most visceral experiences of your life. I've never been scared on a ride like I was at Flamingo Land. It was this sort of disc, that we were all hanging from the outside of, facing inwards, and it rotated while lifting into the air, so you were thrust towards the ground and then hoiked back up again. Fun times.

Yeah, so I was sat in my seat next to my girlfriend and the brace thing comes down over my shoulders and locks and we prepare for lift-off. Then one of the guys running the ride, let's call him Archibald, or Archie, wanders over and is doing his last-minute checks. Then he shouts out to his mate, who we will call Nigel, "Oi Nige, check 23 for us!" and then simple-looking Nigel wanders up to me and begins to examine my shoulder brace thingy.

I may remind you at this point that I was considerably larger than I am now, and was probably approximately 19 1/2 stone. So Nigel is looking at the one thing holding me in my seat while I'm thrown into the air and spun around at high speed. He pulls at it, shakes it back and forth, then just starts repeatedly shoving it into my stomach. Just shoving, looking over his shoulder at Archie, who is staring intently at what I can only imagine was a warning light, telling him that I was clearly not secure in this situation.

Now I'm not proud of how big I was, but I had to some extent come to terms with it at that point. I'd grown larger and larger throughout my childhood and had got used to not being able to do certain things. Like shop in Topman. And use kids' trampolines. I was fine with this. I wasn't bothered about the ride. The only ride I was bothered about was the one I was hoping to get when I got home for being such a great boyfriend.

So at this point, I'm realising what's happening and am just about to start saying "Don't worry about it, mate, I'll sit this one out" when the moronic tit decides that despite the obvious safety warnings, it was all good. "Yeah it's cool, take 'em up" he shouts to Archie, who instantly, before I can utter a word of caution, or more accurately fear, flicks the switch and starts us spinning.

We begin to speed up, round and around and around, then beginning to lift higher into the air, me desperately clinging to the handles on the brace, knuckles white, face drained of blood, literally terrified of death.

I'm convinced this thing is going to just let me out. Let us not forget that it wasn't happy with me WHEN IT WAS STATIONARY. And I'm not a stupid man. I'm a physics geek, deep down. I've studdied circular motion and angular momentum. Centifugal force. If you don't know it by name that's ok, but you will have experienced it. The force you feel when you go around a corner in a car and you're flung to one side or the other.

Right, so I'm there realising that I'm now putting more force on this already strained contraption because I'm spinning around and a-fucking-round, thinking that all I'm going to have to save me is my own grip, which was considerably less than needed to hold my tremendous weight to this machine.

The ride goes on its side, with people flying down straight towards the ground before coming back up on the other side. Now I'm feeling the force is primarily pushing against the brace itself, not even the seat. I'm at the top, the highest point of the fucking ride, with 19 and a half stone pressing against a dodgy mechanism, convinced I'm going to die, tears streaming down my face, desperate to get off, clinging on for dear life.

Finally, the ride slows and drops and ends with me intact. I've never been more scared in my entire life. And my loving, doting girlfriend - of two years at this point, I might add - turns to me after the ride, looking at my red, tear-strewn face desperate for comfort and love, and just simply says: "You fucking pussy."

Thanks for that Sarah, love you too.

Proverbs

Failure is the mother of success but success has many fathers...does that mean that failure is a whore?

Sexy Boy

So I know what you're thinking, "this guy is FAR too attractive to be doing stand-up!

"He must be a model working undercover like in Zoolander or something."

"Or at least should be so busy having sex with beautiful women all day."

But no, I know it's hard to believe, but it turns out I'm not constantly having sex with goddesses because I'm a twat.

Shocking, I know. But it's true. I don't get women. Well, let me clarify. I never KEEP women. I can get them interested in me. I mean there's a reason I'm in stand-up, I love to talk. Promblem is, this gets me in all sorts of trouble with women.

Women don't want the guy that constantly doubts himself, yet that's been an intrinsic part of my life for as long as I can remember. Girls want the debonair guy who barely says anything - except with his eyes.

The guy who doesn't let on whether he likes her, even when fucking her brains out. He just thrusts nonchalantly while planning who he's next going to fuck, or writing a song.

Yeah the whole band-boy thing. Fucking irritating. Just because some lad strums out an ear-destroying din while crying about how his parents didn't buy him enough puppies or take him on as many skiing trips as he wanted as a child. every girl in the place wants to suck his dick.

I'm smart! I'm funny (hopefully). I'm kind, sensitive, confident and well-hung. Oh yeah. And I get NOTHING!!

I get two, three dates at most. Occasionally a one-night stand before they realise what a knobhead I really am. Then it's always "yeah, I've been thinking actually I'm just not ready for a relationship right now..."

or "I don't like what you did with my ass"

or "Hitting on my sister was the final straw"

I mean REALLY?! Come on. I'm a catch!

I mean what do you have to do to please these people?

Maybe I'm shit in bed. That's occurred to me. I mean I don't think I'm terrible, but I'm relatively inexperienced for my age. I had a long-term girlfriend who didn't want to have sex with me much. Which is always an indication that you're a stallion between the sheets.

Actually, there's at least one reason for that - we lost our virginities to each other so it was all a bit awkward and clumsy, but then, just as we were getting into it, on the night when she instigated sex for pretty much the first time, our second time of that day, i was ecstatic, blood was coursing around my body, she was on top of me, riding away, starting to get comfortable with the sexyness...

and i decide in my infinite teenage wisdom that i'll tell her that she has "the best pussy in the world". Yeah, it sounds shit. I know this...NOW.

And unfortunately for me, she decided not to ignore this statement, and, while gently bouncing up and down on me, asked me how I knew this to be true. A reasonable question, you have to say. She knows me pretty well and suspects that I haven't done the requisite research to corroborate this statement.

So I, being me and havign a brain that constantly fucks me over, have a bunch of responses flash through my mind. I think the reasonable but very cheesy "well it must be, it feels so amazing!"

But despite the fact that would have got me out of the conversation and back to thrusting, I didn't say that. Oh how I wish I had. I took a second, looked at her, and, with all the blood in my body nowhere near my brain, responded by lifting my hand up to by my face and saying..."well, better than this!"

Yeah, I wonder why she never wanted to fuck me after that...